Abigail Quatermain and An Extraordinary Adventure
by Elizabeth Athineu
Summary: A strange formula for power from nothing, a ship that travels beneath water, a bizarre photograph, and a vampiress without a thirst for vengence, all of these mysteries are the focus of Abigail Quatermain when she joins her father on an adventure . . .
1. A Formulated Plan

**_Note: I hadn't realized, prior to writing this story, that there was already a character on the FFNetwork named Abigail. Since neither of us own the characters or the names, I hope that the author of the other work entitled 'The Beginning: Enchanted' by pucktofaerie, will be in no wise hurt that the name was used again. The name means 'father's joy' which would have been something significant to Allan. I encourage everyone to read the other fiction mentioned, as (in my opinion after discovering it) it is a very good read. Please enjoy this story as well, bearing in mind that I neither own nor have created the characters or storyline to 'The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen'. This story also bears many references to the stories from which the characters origninally came, please exercise your freedoms this month and read them as a few were banned! READ BANNED BOOKS!!_**

**The First Adventure of Abigail Quatermain**

Abigail Acacia Quatermain finds herself drawn into an amazing adventure when her closest and, in fact, only friend at the Agnes Saint Joseph School for Girls, Dr. Wilhundt Kruschev, is taken captive by a man called the Fantom. Abigail soon learns that her father is also assisting on this task and she sets out to follow his footsteps. Allan and Abigail face the horrors of the past and the dangers of the near future together where they will come to realize that often times what is truly extraordinary are the simple acts of courage one can do for love.

**Chapter 1: A Formulated Plan**

Abigail was now sure that she was both quite mad and in serious trouble. It had been only ten days since she had decided to take this risk and the days she had spent both planning and gathering supplies had told her that she was doing the right thing. Now she wasn't even sure that she had been doing the wrong thing. She wondered what on earth had been going through her mind when she had concocted this. Loneliness was one of them; desperation and anger tied for second place in her mind, but the most likely emotion that had spurred this was her unnatural obsession with bravery. Abigail knew she did not belong in Cambridge at the stuffy Agnes Saint Joseph School for Girls. She had known from birth that she belonged in the wilds of the African savanna, racing tirelessly across the Serengetti to help animals and people alike as her parents had done. Abigail Acacia Quatermain had been born in the dead of night on the plains of Kenya in a small witch-doctor's hut. Her father, Allan Quatermain, had been overjoyed at having another child. His previous wife had blessed him with a son before being taken by an illness. The boy, Harold 'Harry' Nathan Quatermain, had been only 11 when he had lost his mother and was 13 when his father had remarried. The family was happy and contented, especially with the promise of their new addition. Sarah Clarke-Quatermain, Abigail's mother, had been one of the first outstanding graduates from a school that taught veterinary medicine and zoology to women. It was Quatermain's unspoken respect for the land and its creatures, despite his primal need to hunt, that had drawn the young woman straight into his arms.

Abigail thought back for a moment to how people had described her mother and father; both very free and strong-willed, but absolutely tender beside one another. It had been anything but tender when she and her mother had come to England. Harry had been killed during an expedition that called on him and his father to subdue poachers that were also smuggling precious jewels away from the royal family. Abigail remembered receiving the dreadful news at eight years of age. Her brother had been 23 years of age, but Sarah and Allan both mourned the loss of their child, not their young man. After months of unpredictable bouts of shouting and crying, Sarah informed her husband that Harry was gone and would have been absolutely disgusted to see his father giving up on his calling to aide the empire and the African people. Allan had retorted less than tactfully and made it clear that his days of anything more than hiding from the past entirely were over. Sarah had almost immediately whisked Abigail away to England where they stayed shortly with Sarah's mother; Margaret Anne Clarke. Her grandmother believed firstly, that Sarah had never been truly married and, secondly, was still young enough to accept the hands of suitable bachelors. To appease the beastly mistress of their new home, Sarah agreed to send Abigail to the oversized bird cage for girls until she was of age. In the meantime, Sarah had been bombarded by reprisals from her mother and suitors seeking to claim her hand. Sarah ignored them all, reminding Abigail frequently through letters that this was only temporary and that they would return home to Africa as soon as her father was ready for them.

Abigail had not settled into life at the school at all. She had been given, from the report of her middle names and heritage that her grandmother had given the religious leaders of the school, a dreadful nickname among the students; _the wild abomination_. Abigail was fairly good at ignoring all of this at the thought that soon her father would send for them and she would be free of the ivy laden prison. Instead, Abigail was forced to face the truth; her father was content being alone now. She had adjusted to that fact quickly enough, and had found herself enjoying fully the company of the only truly enjoyable professor at the school. Abigail received outstanding scores and marks in every class, despite attempts to do the very opposite, but seemed to excel in Professor Wilhundt Kruschev's science class. Abigail was by no means a chemist or physicist and, in fact, would have failed all the tests entirely if she had not spent hours away from class learning about language and culture with him. Kruschev was more than an intriguing professor with a world of knowledge hidden behind a thick accent and bright red beard; he was her only friend. Two weeks before her rash decision that she was wading through now, Dr. Kruschev had been taken prisoner.

Abigail learned the next day that he had been the most recent in a string of kidnapings. She shuddered at remembering the afternoon that had begun it all. He had been in the laboratory showing Abigail the finer points of fun with powdered calcium when strange men had barged in. Dr. Kruschev had hidden the girl quickly in the supply cabinet under the table as he was dragged away. On the table, he had purposely left two folded pieces of paper that he kept in his coat most of the time unless wanting to shout at someone else that his genius was unappreciated by the vast majority of this filthy country. Abigail had taken them quickly and discovered strange formulas for a physics query on both. She had hidden them carefully before being asked to give numerous accounts to the authorities. When no one had made progress in three days to find him, Abigail had reasoned that the best person to find him would have been the closest person to him these past years. Not only was she that very person, but she was also the last person to have seen him. She had quickly devised a plan for leaving the school and had headed toward the enormous British Museum in London, where the men who had come to ask the greatest number of questions had told Vicar Bakersham at the school they were focusing their work, to research something she had heard from one of the men. The thought that weaponry could be powered by something other than fire was terrifying. Upon her sneaky arrival into a subterranean records room, Abigail had caught the tail end of an unthinkable conversation which had briefly mentioned a 'League of Extraordinary Gentleman' attempting to rescue the kidnapped scientists.

"Then they've all agreed?" a somewhat familiar voice said.

"Of course they've all agreed, all but one. I'm sure that just the very sight of Quatermain will convince him whether or not the woman shows herself," a strange man in dark clothes said to the other man in equally bizarre attire. Abigail strained to stay silent and still against a wall of papers as the two men began to saunter slowly toward the stairs at the exit.

"And you really think that tired old bag of wind will be able to restrain that beast?" the first man asked.

"If Allan Quatermain cannot subdue him, then he is of no use to us," the second snorted. "I have every faith that the old white hunter will not fail us in this."

"Won't that mean you'll have a hard time ending him, then?" the first asked again in a softer tone. Abigail felt her heart leap worriedly. Was that man talking about killing her father?

"Leave all of that to me. I think you underestimate how persuasive I can be. He may yet be of use to us after he's taken out the brute," the second had replied with a laugh. The two men had disappeared quickly up the stairway and out of sight. Abigail breathed deeply and raced out of the catacombs to watch for the rest of the goings on here. If her father was nearby, then he would be the perfect person to help her.

_No_, she _thought. I would be the perfect person to help him. He needs to know about those two men, and what they plan to do!_

Abigail stayed as still and quiet as possible as she slunk along the passageway that led to the museum's main entrance. It seemed to be taking hours at the rate she was moving. She frowned. If she didn't move more quickly, then Dr. Kruschev would die of old age before she reached him. She furrowed her brow and drew in a deep breath. If she looked casual and confident enough, no one would question the presence of a young school girl in a museum, even a museum like this and at such a late hour. Night was falling rapidly and the already darkened sky was growing more angry by the minute. Rain fell in icy torrents from the iron-like clouds that had sealed themselves over London entirely. She could see the rain and sky from the windows that lined the walls near the front door. _The front door!_ she realized. She was nearly outside and on her way to the docks. Dr. Kruschev's captor had worn a great deal of fur and had spoken with a thick accent. Abigail was sure that he had been from a country far to the northeast of Europe. All she had to do was take a ship to the Russian border and ask questions about suspicious activity from sailors. The man had spoken German with a Russian accent, so it seemed the most plausible course while she had been at the school. It was by no means the best plan, or a fairly good plan, but it was something to follow. Abigail sighed heavily and wished that she not only had more information to go on, but had more help as well. Loud footsteps interrupted her thoughts. She leapt behind a column and watched carefully as a group of people walked towards the exit as quickly as she had hoped to do. Her eyes widened at recognizing something. One of the figures wore a wide-rimmed leather hat common among guides in the dark regions of Africa. That hat had been a source of conversation for much of her childhood. She smiled brightly and felt her heart skip a few beats. Her father was a few steps away from her. Perhaps she should follow him and see what his plan of action was. Her expression fell slightly. Their plan of action; there were three other people with him. One was most definitely an Indian, possibly a nobleman by the colour and look of the turban, one was an undescribably strange man in a long coat, wide hat, and curious white substance covering his face, and one of them was a woman. A small fire began to burn in the pit of her stomach. For her father's sake, that woman needed to be a necessary part of finding Dr. Kruschev and nothing else.

Now Abigail was sure she needed to follow. After the group had left the building, Abigail watched them enter a long buggy without horses to move it forward. She studied it curiously from a distance and marveled at the gorgeous silver decor and the unique design of the contraption. The vehicle moved quickly down the cobbled streets, but not so quickly that the young girl couldn't keep up from a distance. She had learned from birth to run at a pace that was unheard of in polite society. Running made her feel free as if no matter where she was at the moment she was still at one with the plains and sky from home. She began to feel completely exhausted by the time the vehicle stopped near the east London docks. She found a place to hide for a moment and catch her breath near the row of gothic buildings that was the apparent destination for the group her father was leading at the moment. No matter what the rest of the group believed, Abigail knew for a fact that her father would settle for nothing less than leader; her mother had said repeatedly that he had been born the alpha male and would stay at the head of any crowd for all of his natural life. It wasn't until Abigail was about four years old that she had truly understood the phrase and had found it most amusing.

The rain had slowed for the time being as the clouds also seemed to catch their breath. She pulled herself to her feet and walked around the back of the buildings to check for an entrance. A large staircase led up to a doorway leading into one of the flats. Abigail closed her eyes for a moment. This had to be the entrance she needed. The other buildings were far too dilapidated from the front to be as neat as the back of this building appeared. Still, the thought of simply walking through a door that had no known destination to her was frightening. Since Dr. Kruschev had been taken captive, Abigail had felt only three emotions; sadness, fear, and resolve. She could always outweigh the first two with the third. That was exactly what she needed to do at the moment. Pushing every other thought out of her mind, Abigail climbed the staircase and grasped the handle tightly. She slipped through the door as it opened ever so slightly. If resolve had not been at the forefront of her mind, Abigail would have found the fact that the door was left unlocked and opened easily equally as unnerving as simply walking through it. She began to tremble slightly as she found herself making her way through series of shelves and covered portraits. She found another, less cared for, set of iron stairs. These stairs didn't look like they could hold out for much longer, but surely they could handle one more pedestrian especially a comically short school-girl. She sometimes found her size and age to be beneficial and this was one of the rare moments that she was satisfied to be young and unnoticed.

The stairs led to a catwalk that encircled all the other bookcases that surrounded this room. The catwalk allowed guests to reach the higher portions of the bookcases more easily as well as what appeared to be a hallway that led into another portion of the flat. Abigail suddenly heard voices and footsteps entering the room. She smiled at recognizing her father's voice among them. The group must have found their way in only a little after she had. She knelt on the catwalk, watching the group intently. Now there was a handsome young man with them. He must have been the owner of the flat itself. He was dressed in finery that had a timeless fashion to it. He appeared to be the sort of gentleman that grandmother Margaret would have preferred that her mother had married. He carried a smooth polished cane as if it were an extension of his arm. None of them seemed to notice her. She breathed more easily, wondering what on earth they needed from an aristocrat. Could he have information on the man that had taken Dr. Kruschev? Perhaps he was a financier that was going to give monetary assistance to the group. Her father had been well acquainted with wealthy men willing to pay for adventures that they were not at all physically or mentally prepared for. She fixed her eyes on the man more carefully. There was something odd about him. Something that seemed like the other antiquities in this flat. They had outlived their time, but still kept a beauty and dignity that wouldn't easily wear away. Still, no matter how many times either he or the objects could be refreshed or washed, the scent of a thin layer of dust that would be present with them until they withered to nothing, lingered around him giving him an aura of vaporish grey. Abigail couldn't confirm this until she met him much closer, of course, but it was fairly obvious from this distance which meant it would be all the more clear at only a few inches from him.

Just as the group began to settle in to talk among one another, Abigail felt a strong pair of hands seize her from behind. Cold rage overwhelmed her and froze her in place. She gasped as one of the hands clamped down over her mouth and the other wrapped around her waist, dragging her away from the edge. A soft cry finally found its way to her throat, replacing the guttural growl that desperately wanted to escape in its stead. She managed to reach up and firmly grasp the hand over her mouth and begin to pry at it. The figure behind her gripped her tightly and stood perfectly still. Abigail was certain from the shape and tightness of the chest that this was a man, or at the least, a very mature boy. She looked up and noted that either assumption could have been correct. His enormous brown eyes were the only things visible on his face for the moment. His mouth and nose were covered by a black cloth, giving him the look of a bandit from storybooks. She stared at him in confusion as he leaned forward to her ear.

"Don't scream, and don't wiggle. I'm not going to hurt you," he said quietly. Abigail's eyes drew upward in confusion. His accent was so unusual. It was almost, well, American. She relaxed as he looked forward for a moment, scanning something across the way. "You need to hide, right over there." He nodded to an empty portion of one of the bookcases nearby, almost undetectable because of the darkness. He leaned down once again. "I'm going to let go of you; you'll need to stay there until I tell you its safe. There's about to be a big raucous here."

As he released her mouth she carefully pushed his other arm away from her and turned to stare into his face. He was positively the most incredible thing she had ever seen. Forget the ageless beauty that owned the flat, this man was an adonis with a voice to match. She sighed softly and then tried to shake herself free of the infatuation in lieu of the current dangers afoot. He pointed quickly to the empty hiding place once again and then scanned their surroundings more carefully. Abigail scrambled into the small space and watched. He walked over to her and knelt, pulling a small blade from his boot and handing it to her.

"May I have your name so I can tell you when its safe?" he asked.

While Abigail had no way of knowing whether or not this man was dangerous in truth, she was more than willing to give him what he asked for the moment.

"My name is Abigail," she replied quietly.

"Mine's Tom Sawyer," he replied and took one of her hands, quickly placing the knife in it. She shuddered for a moment as his fingers grazed her own. Abigail had never been this close to a young man, at least not since she had left Kenya. This felt dangerous enough by itself. He looked deeply into her face as if saying goodbye before war. Abigail felt cold for a moment. There really was going to be something terrible in a moment. "If someone sees you, don't be a lady."

She nodded once as he turned and raced back to where the two had been standing. Abigail felt the atmosphere of the entire room change in an instant. Guns from several positions in the room cocked and their owners took aim. Abigail could feel the presence of something. . . evil, yet so familiar. She had felt it when Dr. Kruschev had ordered her to hide as well. Nausea washed over her at that memory and at the sudden realization that the same man that took him might have very well been nearby. From below she could hear her father's voice questioning the presence of the weapons and those wielding them.

"Gray?" he asked.

"They are not mine," the antique gentleman replied.

"They are _mine_," a third voice answered. Abigail felt a swarm of numerous forms of anger and fear suddenly grip her more harshly than Sawyer had. That voice. . . it was _his_. This was the man that had taken Dr. Kruschev. This was the man that needed to pay.


	2. Found at First

**Chapter 2: Discovered at First**

Even after having spent her childhood in the noisy parts of the serengetti and being subjected to the sound of gunfire as an infant, Abigail cried out in surprise and covered her ears as the air was torn apart with firing and shouting from below and around her. Her father and his new entourage were under attack! Abigail contemplated racing down to aide them for a brief moment, but the contemplation was cut short by her sudden attack of fear and uncertainty. She froze and trembled as the noises of rapid fire, shouting, and blows landing harshly on bone and flesh blended with her racing heartbeat and ringing pulse. For a strange and strained moment, she felt herself lift from her own body, able to hear and see things below as well as seeing and hearing what her body was trying to avoid. She narrowed her eyes and watched the action below unfold at unimaginable, but still decipherable, speed. Her father, the Indian, the strange man (who had shed his coat and facial covering only to reveal nothing underneath), and the antique gentleman had dispatched most of the men with the woman nowhere in sight. Sawyer was still on the catwalk and dispatching enemies there, while she simply remained fairly incapacitated physically. She frowned and turned, watching carefully from what felt like the centre of the room several feet in the air. Her eyes widened as she finally got a good view of the kidnapper, still in fur coat and odd mask, fleeing the scene. She felt anger rising within her and made a move forward. Her stomach fell at realizing that she was unable to move and still observing things from a somewhat spiritual perspective. She watched as Sawyer took off after him at the speed of an old cheetah; not quite as fast as lightning, but definitely inhuman. It was impressive, especially for an American.

A loud cry from the woman turned her vision back to the commotion below. The Indian held the woman away from running towards the antique gentleman, whose name was apparently Dorian, and who was now under direct attack. An enemy only a few feet from him was unloading all ammunition into the man's chest. Even Abigail in her abnormal serenity found this terribly confusing, but very interesting to watch. Dorian didn't seem to be flinching and was most certainly not succumbing to a single wound. After all of the bullets were spent, the attacker lowered his weapon and stared in shock at his victim as he gave him a reproachful look. With a swift, smooth movement of one hand, Dorian took hold of the barrel of the gun and tossed it to the side while slicing the man's breastplate off of his shoulder straps. Abigail felt the air around her grow cold and hard as in another swift move, Dorian plunged the tip of his rapier deep into the man's abdomen and glared down at him in cruel satisfaction. The man grabbed Dorian's shirt at the collar and held on tightly as he sunk to the ground, tearing the finery with every inch of life lost. He coughed as the final rasping breaths of mortality escaped him and he looked into the gentleman's eyes with only one request for information left in him.

"What are you?" he croaked.

"I'm _complicated_," Dorian replied curtly. He pulled the sword upward in a final measure of cruelty and finally pulled it free of its target. Abigail frowned again. The man had obviously been mortally wounded with the blow, the rest seemed to point to some sort of deranged sport on the odd youth's account. She shuddered and felt herself begin to fall rapidly and fiercely towards the floor. In an instant, she had returned to her body and her proper senses with her hands clamped uncomfortably over her ears and her eyes squeezed painfully shut. Relaxing as the noises ceased, she sat back against the edge of the bookcase and pondered staying where she was to return the blade she had been holding to Sawyer or to go on hiding elsewhere so that she would remain unnoticed by her father and the others for the time being. She felt a sharp twinge of pain in her palm suddenly become a throbbing annoyance. It wasn't until she crawled away from the dark enclosure and glanced down at her hand, that she noticed just how tightly she had been gripping the blade against her own head. She reached up to her left ear and noted that there was a small cut there as well. This would make hiding all the more difficult. At least the wound on her hand would be tolerable. She reached down and tore a long piece of cloth from her skirt, shortening it to about five inches below her knees, and wiped the stinging red blood from her ear before wrapping the entire length around her hand. She looked at the blade for a moment, frowning once again. It wouldn't do for the American to find his blade covered in blood without her being there; he might fear the worst and insist on going after her in every direction imaginable. She wiped it firmly against the cloth around her hand and then set it back in the hiding space. There, now there would be no cause for alarm. He would think he had imagined the whole thing, or at least she hoped that would be the first rationalization in his mind.

She climbed out towards the edge once again to watch the group as the gathered their strengths once more. The invisible man, whose name or title was Skinner as the Indian had said earlier in their arrival, spoke first followed by Dorian who asked about Mina, obviously the woman since no one knew about the other female presence among them. Mina appeared a moment later from behind one of the bookcases, retrieving her hat and scarf as she softly scolded Allan for his comment following Dorian's. Out of nowhere, one of the fallen attackers leapt to his feet and seized Mina from behind, Abigail gasped as the men drew their weapons and took aim at the new dilemma when the man holding her placed a dagger at her throat. Even Sawyer was now holding his rifle aloft and standing near the rest of the group, who seemed equally as surprised as she had been to see him. The attacker spoke, the men lowered their weapons, and Abigail was sure that she had never seen her father look more angry or frustrated in all his life away from his family or close friends. She watched his expression closely, barely taking notice of the others as they lowered their weapons in compliance with the assailant's demands or of Mina's reply to his claim that the others would do anything to protect her. Abigail did take notice when an inhuman hiss, snarl, and flash of colour came from Mina's direction. In less than an instant she had taken hold of the man and was biting furiously into his neck. She followed him in movement as he collapsed on the floor and continued to gnaw at the man's throat for a few, disturbing, seconds.

Abigail turned away from the scene and clutched her shoulder comfortingly as her heartbeat and breath raced out of control for at least ten beats. What on earth was that!? She had never seen anything so gruesome in all her years watching predators on the savanna! What kind of humanesque demon feasted on blood so viciously after such a smooth and beautiful appearance to the rest of her company?! The word vampire entered her mind at the thought of blood and feeding in that manner. She had heard tales from some of the help at the school of the legends of vampires from small villages in eastern Europe where sin and disease followed one another as closely as Spring followed Winter. Vampires were beasts that appeared as beautiful and irresistible young men and women to other humans. Most of the stories told of the vampire as being a corpse that crawled from a tomb or grave every night before feeding on the blood of any persons sleeping nearby. Surely this couldn't be true. Most of the people that told such stories were either known for their dependance on a bottle well into adulthood or far too superstitious for their own good. She sighed heavily and suddenly realized that she needed to get back away from a visible position and wait until the group made their next move as she planned her own. As Sawyer introduced himself to her father's company, she slunk carefully to the side and down the darkest stairwell, a good distance away from the rest of them. After introducing himself and being accepted into the crew by her father, Sawyer's eyes widened in realizing he'd forgotten something. He raced back up the nearest set of stairs and hurried over to the alcove where he'd left Abigail with proper protection. He frowned and furrowed his brow in deep confusion as he found only his blade laying perfectly positioned on its side on the floor of the sectional. He took it carefully and examined it. His heart twisted for a moment at seeing a small drop of blood that Abigail had been unable to remove. He stood slowly and looked around the catwalk carefully.

"Miss Abigail?" he called. Abigail froze and closed her eyes tightly, praying fervently that her father would be unable to put anything together that would suspect her presence. To her dismay, not just Allan, but everyone in the group, turned their eyes upward towards the youth. He frowned and turned in the other direction. "Miss Abigail?"

"Did you lose something, Agent Sawyer?" Mina called up to him.

"Some_one_," Sawyer replied. "I could have sworn there was a little girl when I first got up here."

Abigail felt blood rush angrily to her face. _Little girl_? How dare he! She calmed herself in thinking that he knew about as much of her as she knew of him and she would have been more than willing to refer to him as a young boy before hearing his voice. He looked around the catwalk for a moment more and then sighed heavily, heading back down the stairs.

"Already the boy's hormones are imagining things. Americans are hardly reliable in heated situations," Dorian said coldly as Sawyer made his way over to the rest. The group turned towards the door that lead out to the stairs and back door that had brought Abigail inside to begin with. Mina turned calmly to the impervious young man and smiled.

"I really wouldn't accuse others of being unreliable if I were you, because of either hormones or heat, Dorian," she quipped. He lifted one brow, but made no reply.

Abigail waited until the final member had passed through the door. She knelt beside the door and listened as the last of them made their way down the stairs outside. There was plenty of noise from both the ocean and their own conversations to hide the small noise that opening the door would make. She breathed deeply before opening the door and slipping through in one fluid movement. To her relief, no one seemed to notice. Her father turned his eyes upward for a moment as Mina did her best to explain why she had attacked the man a moment before. He seemed to be scanning for something, but not seriously enough to be suspecting to see an enemy. She breathed a sigh of relief and suppressed a laugh at thinking how that her father's senses had remained unchanged after six years. Abigail did not focus on any more of the conversation as the ocean's surface near the edge of the dock where the group stood began to churn upward. Abigail leaned forward from the topmost landing where she continued to wait and watched as the bough of a vessel appeared from beneath the water. She gasped and moved backward, causing yet another curious glance from her father to scan the area. Sawyer did the same, but both must have come to the same agreement that nothing was following them for the time being.

The vessel was shaped like an odd cylinder with a raised cap at the top and idols decorating it in a most majestic manner. Abigail was now sure that if the Royal Navy had been hiding this for years, than the rumours going around about Great Britain keeping massive weapons a secret from the rest of the world might just be true. The enormous vessel came to rest near the dock where a panel on the side opened and lowered a ramp to the group. They entered, leaving the ramp open and waiting a few moments with very few men actually watching the entrance as they made their way in fully. Abigail smiled and felt the only opportunity she would have to follow the group slipping quickly away. She darted down the stairs and raced hurriedly into the vessel, gazing at the crewmen as casually as possible. She needed to appear confident and casual in order to give the illusion that she belonged with the group long enough to find a perfect place to stay hidden. She looked around for several minutes before finding a large supply room lined with sparse lights overhead kept in tiny cages. She marveled at how intricate the details put into this one vessel were in simply the 'broom closet'. This was amazing. A hand suddenly landed on her shoulder. She jumped and turned around, losing the air of casual confidence that she had hoped to wrap around her every movement. A well-seasoned sailor in dark blue clothing and a wool cap stared down at her. He was not clean shaven, but by no means unkempt.

"Shouldn't you be settling in, Miss?" he asked. Abigail felt relief wash over her. The man thought that she had come along with the others with their knowledge. This could work to her advantage somewhat.

"Yes, thank you," she replied with a polite nod. "My room is at the farthest end, I believe, seeing as I am a little more young and female than the rest."

"I should think that the captain would have you in with Misses Harker," the man corrected. Abigail couldn't hide the look of slight terror that gripped her. The man noted this and gave her a look of reproval. "I'll take you there right now so that you can get settled."

"Oh, that's alright, I'll find my own way there," Abigail offered as the hand that was once on her shoulder found its way to her arm and gripped her tightly. She stared up at him uneasily.

"Oh, as the first mate I _insist_," he answered firmly. Abigail looked one way and then the other for a moment, trying to think of a way out of this. The only option now was to stay as a hunted stow-away. This would be inconvenient until they were too far for her father to send her back to Cambridge, but it was doable. She yanked her arm firmly away from the sailor and darted to the other end of the large supply room. As she found a hiding place behind a few barrels of flour, she heard the first mate head for the door. "Seal it off, men! Stow-away! Get the captain!" he called.

Abigail cursed herself softly in all the ways she had learned at school. After all these years, it still amazed her how much she had learned to use in anger from the vicars alone. Well, she thought, at least she could hide at odd places around the vessel until being caught. The intrigue was worth having left the school even if it was tiring. A few long and silent moments afterward, footsteps and loud voices surrounded the door at the farthest end. Abigail felt her heart sink at recognizing the voice. The door opened and allowed one figure at a time to enter until all of her father's group, beginning with her father, entered and began to search in different directions. She curled into a ball and whispered as many prayers asking for forgiveness and transparency as she could manage. Her stomach joined her sunken heart as yet another familiar voice made itself known overhead.

"Miss Abigail!" Sawyer exclaimed in relief. He leaned over the barrels, offering her his hand with irritating valor. She groaned and grasped it gently, realizing that her sins had cost her any stealth she had enjoyed afore hand. Before anyone could say anything else, Sawyer wrapped both arms around the girl tightly. She gasped and let both arms drop to her sides. "I wondered where you'd gone off to! I was afraid those. . . men. . . had done something terrible to you!"

"So you said nothing and let the rest of us remain in the dark about a potential victim?" Allan suddenly said angrily. Sawyer let go of her and turned to face him. The rest of the group stared back and forth between the couple barely embracing and the old man barely seething. Sawyer finally let go of Abigail's body and took only her hand defensively. Abigail hung her crimson face in shame and placed her other hand behind her in embarrassment. "And just what do _you_ have to say for yourself?"

Sawyer felt a little more than peeved at this. In truth, he had thought that he had simply imagined the lovely young girl that had needed rescuing. He frowned and cleared his throat, but before he could reply Abigail broke the strained silence.

"_Gross scheisse_?" she said timidly. Mina gasped and placed a hand near her mouth in shock. The Indian and Dorian each raised one brow while the invisible Skinner snickered softly. Allan frowned more fully.

"That's exactly what you've found yourself in for the moment," he replied. Sawyer finally grasped the meaning of what she must have said. Gaging by Misses Harker's reaction, the German words had not meant 'hot water', but rather something else entirely. "Out, all of you. I'll have a word with her."

"Now wait just a minute; she ain't an enemy and I can vouch for that," Sawyer said firmly and stood a few defensive steps in front of her, releasing her hand quickly. Abigail quickly allowed the second hand to join the first pressed firmly behind her back as she had done when winding up in trouble as a small child. "I can take care of any. . ."

"Sawyer," Allan began as calmly, yet sternly as possible. He stared down at the boy with a tiny hint of admiration for the boy's loyalty to defending those in need. "_**I **_will have a word with her."

The youth was agitated to leave the helpless girl in the room alone with the unpredictable hero. He nodded slightly and took one last look at Abigail. She seemed more humiliated than frightened. He sighed and stepped out of the room slowly, followed by the others. Allan turned back to the girl as the door shut behind the rest of the crowd. She took one step backwards and swallowed hard. He shook his head, raising one hand to his face as he sat on one of the full crates. He pensively scratched his chin and stared at the girl uneasily. The two remained completely silent for a few moments, entirely unsure of what to say to one another with such an odd reunion after six strained years of what Abigail and her father both saw as abandonment. Of course, Allan wouldn't have blamed Abigail for any abandoning; that sin belonged to Sarah. Abigail, however, still had an ounce of resentment towards the national hero that had allowed his child to end up in the clutches of a tired old hag with a penchant for the suffering of others. It was almost his fault that she had found herself placed harshly in Agnes Saint Joseph's School for Girls in the first place, but it was entirely his fault that she had spent any more time than a day there. Still, Abigail was more saddened than angry. Allan removed his hat and set it beside him before trying to look into his daughter's eyes from a distance. She was keeping the verdant orbs well hidden from him as they began to well with tears.

"Abigail," he said more softly. His tone was so much more soft that Abigail felt inclined to look up and see for herself what had caused the change. "Does your mother know where you are?"

"No, sir," she replied softly. Allan groaned and gritted his teeth at imagining Sarah's response when she found her only child missing. Allan had never learned of Abigail's enrollment at the school. He frowned and looked to the side. "I left a note."

"That will go over well," he muttered. "How long have you been after me, then?"

"Only a few hours, really. I only just learned that you and these. . . others were also looking for Dr. Kruschev," she explained. He looked up curiously. "I hadn't realized that so many other professors from other places had been taken as well."

"Professors? You knew one of the scientists?" he asked.

"Dr. Kruschev was the only one worth speaking to at the school," she replied heavily. Allan's eyes widened angrily.

"What school?" he demanded.

"Agnes Saint Joseph's School for Girls," she replied with disgust. Allan looked back at her with equal disgust.

"Sarah's become more cruel and two-faced than I remember," he said. Abigail's eyes burned into a glare at him.

"Mother didn't send me there, grandmother did because she wants mother married to a proper gentleman! Mother isn't the one at fault, you know, you never even wrote to us!" Abigail replied angrily. Allan stared back at her, finally realizing that nothing of the past six years was going to remain quiet any longer. In a way, this was a relief, but it came at a most inopportune time. He sighed and sat back down on the crate and picked up the hat. "What on earth was so important at home that kept you from coming after us? It must be over now that you're on to something_ else_."

Allan smirked at the timid girl's sudden turn to her mother's behaviour. He stood and moved towards her calmly. She looked at him cautiously, not knowing what exactly he was thinking of all of this at the moment.

"Come, Abigail," he said tenderly. "This isn't the place to talk about things. We'll have a few moments to ourselves before we reach Paris."

"You're going to leave me in Paris?!" Abigail exclaimed, jumping to a conclusion that she had feared for several minutes now.

Allan laughed for a few seconds before turning towards the door. "There's no leaving you anywhere, Abigail. At least here on the ship I can keep an eye on you," he replied. "Besides, that's where we recruit the last member of our league."

"In Paris?" Abigail asked curiously as they walked towards the door and her father gripped the handle. "A Frenchman is coming along?"

Allan chuckled softly. "I'm not sure that _man_ is a word that would describe him," he replied. Abigail tried not to think about that any further as they moved to exit the room. The group had gathered around the door and waited patiently for the two to exit. The Indian stared at elder man expectantly. "If you'll excuse us, Captain, my daughter and I need a few moments alone in my quarters."

The Indian nodded respectfully. Mina's expression remained as shocked as having just heard the German obscenity. Dorian's expression became quite amused. Sawyer looked somewhere between relieved, impressed, and terrified, while Skinner laughed loudly.

"Spawned another like yourself, eh?" he jabbed. "I would've thought you'd have been rendered mercifully unable." The rest of the company turned to Skinner angrily as the father and daughter made their way down the hallway. "What?"


	3. Explaining Everything

**Chapter 3: Explaining Everything**

Abigail continued to keep her hands folded tightly behind her back. She had managed to pull her long red waves over the injury on her ear before it could be noticed. Her father would have a fit and demand that she stay completely out of the way if he saw these. At least for the moment he thought she was capable, but with obvious wounds that would be out of the question. She sighed as her father tossed his hat on the large bed in his room and sat down in one of the large chairs. Facing it was an equally large chair, where Abigail found that her heels didn't quite touch the floor from sinking into the cushion. She carefully grasped her bandaged hand in the other to continue hiding the wound. Allan took a glass from the table and filled it with a suitable drink for the situation, mild brandy. He sat down and looked calmly at his child.

"Well," he began. "How old are you now? Twelve isn't it?"

"It's been a little longer than that, father. I'm fourteen now," she explained. "It's been nearly seven years."

"That was a mistake not to ever be repeated by myself or anyone else," he said sadly. "That's all in the past now, things will be different if everything goes according to plan."

"What plan is that?" Abigail asked as she rubbed her wrist pensively. Allan frowned.

"It was brave of you to come after your friend as you did, Abigail, and admirable that you followed after me instead of heading out on your own. However, I believe the rest of the rescuing should be left up to those of us chosen for the position," he reasoned as gently as possible. Abigail frowned and looked away. Being the young daughter of an avid sportsman and adventurer had never been easy even when they had been at home and she had been able to run free. He smiled. "There are still ways you can make yourself quite useful, though."

She looked up, a little relieved to hear those words. It still made her feel a great deal smaller than anything in the room, but at least there was acknowledgment to a need for her however small it may have been.

"Like what?" she asked, excited to think that she might actually be able to help on a mission. Since her birth, Allan had taken only small tasks from the government that never lasted for more than two weeks. She had heard that in his younger days he would be gone for months on a certain task, but that had changed after meeting Sarah who was needed in the villages and among the nomads to tend to their animals.

"Perhaps you can offer us a perspective on the scientists in question and their captor that the rest of us can't see," he said. Abigail's expression faded to sheer disappointment.

This was her father's kind way of saying that she would be good for company and nothing more. She breathed deeply and turned away from him for a moment, contemplating asserting herself, but thinking better of it for the time being. For an hour or so, the two made every attempt possible at small talk to overcome the enormous gap that had been laid between them. Abigail told her father of what had transpired for herself and her mother since their arrival in England, Dr. Kruschev's capture, and the conversation of the two men who had spoken of killing him; Allan told Abigail of what had transpired shortly before he had decided to leave on this expedition and why he hadn't come after both she and Sarah immediately. She listened as intently as possible, but found her mind drawn away to other things every few moments. She thought of the possibility of real danger and finding herself in it, she thought of Dr. Kruschev and either outcome that could unfold in finding him, and she thought of the American. He seemed very noble and very kind, but also quite bold and eager to prove himself. Her father had dealt with that sort of thing before, according to stories. In the end, the youths either ended up torn to pieces by some kind of beast because of arrogance or became a humbled and helpful asset to humanity. Allan noted the distant stare and strange breathing with chagrin. Why now, why did she have to be discovering her feelings for young men now and with an _American_?!

After several minutes of speaking quietly, both seemed to be feeling more comfortable around one another, but still appeared to be keeping something back. It would be a puzzle over the next few days to discover exactly what it was that the other was thinking and feeling. There was a loud knock on the door to the room and a voice from one of the crewmen announced that Mr. Quatermain was needed in making plans for the hunt in Paris. He turned to Abigail before rising to leave the room.

"Stay here, Abigail. This is something I'm afraid you cannot help with," he said.

Abigail noted both the firmness and the relief in his voice at thinking she would be safely out of the way when he was busy. She frowned and watched him leave the room, heading off to concoct some sort of excursion to take a man, that somehow wasn't exactly a man, captive. She wondered if he was somehow in alliance with the Fantom that had kidnaped the other scientists. No, her father and the others would have mentioned that by now. Also, he wouldn't be permitted an invitation to help them track the villain down as she had heard her father say they would. She stood and walked over to the desk, opening each drawer in curiosity and glancing at its contents before closing it quickly. The first drawer held pencils, pens, and inkwells, as well as a few bars of wax and a seal. She frowned and opened the second drawer. In it was a large pile of papers and articles from different magazines and newspapers alongside a few professional files with names and pictures attached to each. She picked up one of them, looking at it with great interest. There was a picture of the Indian that was obviously captain of this vessel and a short list about his nautical history. Her eyes widened as she read the name on the file: Nemo. She felt her breath leave her body for a moment once again and she dropped the file onto the others. There was a vampiress, an American, a strange impermeable aristocrat, and a known criminal assisting her father!? Abigail wondered after reading this, just what sort of creature they were going after in Paris. She frowned even further at wondering what sort of character the strange, and invisible, man named Skinner really was.

She decided it best to simply ignore those things until she could speak further with her father about all of this. The third drawer was essentially empty, or at least it appeared that way when she opened it initially. Before closing it, she caught sight of the worn edge of a photograph in a frame. She breathed carefully as she pulled it from the compartment and held it right side up. She smiled. Immortalized in shades of grey and sepia were four people. A woman sat, clothed in fine and conservative attire next to the rugged form of Allan with rifle over his shoulder. Sarah had commented on how that she felt a little small next to his first love, _Matilda_, even when alone with her husband. In front of her father stood the happy and enthusiastic form of Harry shortly after his fifteenth birthday, holding the end of a rifle of his own. In Sarah's lap, with the arms of her mother wrapped gently around her, sat Abigail as she had been when she had just celebrated her first birthday. Allan's left hand rested proudly on Sarah's shoulder with the right lying softly on Harry's. This had been their happy family for eight wonderful years. Abigail felt a terrible ache in her chest at remembering what she and her mother had left behind. She shook her head firmly and set the photograph back in the drawer. It must have been all her father had been permitted time to unpack while she had been discovered. The door opened swiftly once again. Abigail turned, breathing rapidly at the thought she might be in some sort of trouble for looking through the drawers. Her father, accompanied in the doorway by Sawyer, entered and quickly picked up Matilda, turning to Abigail with an obvious list of rules in mind. She frowned and turned her attention to Sawyer for a moment, still drawn to the odd boy by his dark eyes.

"Abigail, the ship is about to reach Paris. Sawyer and I are going ashore to acquire our last member. I want you to stay here and. . . " he stood perfectly still and thought for a moment about what he could occupy her with, or rather whom he could occupy her with to make absolutely sure that she stayed out of trouble. He frowned at realizing his only answer. Abigail stared past her father, causing the man to frown more fully at thinking he would have more than just villains to keep her away from. ". . . assist Misses Harker with getting settled, since you have studied with a chemistry professor. I'm sure that the two of you might have quite a bit to discuss."

"Yes, father," she said softly. It would have been exciting to accompany her father on a hunt, especially in a city rather than on the savanna, but it was fairly clear that he would have neither argument nor disobedience for the time being. Allan had never been a man to take kindly to disagreements, but this had never before been an issue for Abigail and she certainly didn't want to start a history of this now. She kept her eyes fairly firmly affixed on Sawyer as her father moved to the doorway. Before the elder could take the younger from the room forcefully, the boy walked towards Abigail and spoke softly.

"Miss Abigail, there's something I need to ask you about when I get back," he said. Allan growled softly and took him firmly by the arm and began to walk swiftly out of the room.

"Alright," Abigail said quickly.

She watched the two leave the room and move hurriedly towards the end of the hallway. Why on earth was her father behaving so harshly towards Sawyer? He seemed a nice enough young man to her. She sighed heavily and looked towards the other end of the hall. There were orders being spoken loudly in another tongue that she didn't quite recognize as well as English. She breathed deeply and moved towards the shouting. Natural curiosity would be in direct control of her movements for the majority of this voyage from this point forward. It felt odd to be moving forward in a vessel that was comprised of polished wood in its interior. The ferry that she and her mother had taken to leave Africa had been an enormous metal beast, creaking and groaning with every passing breeze. This vessel had not been wooden from the outside, but was marvelously carved and decorated within, at least in the hallways. It was also quite silent in comparison to what she had expected to hear after being at sea before. She leaned against the wall and listened more carefully to the words of the men as they went about their tasks. Abigail felt her stomach lurch forward as yet another hand took hold of her shoulder. This was beginning to become an annoying regularity for the evening. She hadn't heard a thing behind her. Turning, she felt her breath and cold run more cold and still than they had all afternoon.

"Just the person I was looking for," Mina said with a smile. Abigail stood and took a step backward, nodding to the woman. "Your father informed me that you are the only other person aboard with knowledge of modern science. Is that true?"

"Not quite, Misses Harker. I'm sure that anyone behind the maneuvering of this vessel will be equally or more versed in modern science than I am," Abigail replied quickly. She moved to the side, feeling quite uncomfortable for the moment. As she tried to walk past the woman, Mina caught her firmly by the arm.

"Your father told me that you might be able to lend a hand in arranging my equipment," she continued calmly. Abigail felt her mouth go dry at imagining herself alone with not only a stranger, but a stranger who had just recently been seen viciously drinking a man's blood as he died beneath her. Mina's eyes flashed with amusement as she began to lead them towards her stateroom. Abigail hadn't recalled deciding to follow or even deciding to walk, but she realized all too late that they had arrived. Mina released the girl's arm and turned to close the door, locking it once at the top latch. Abigail breathed deeply once again, feeling herself begin to tremble as Mina turned to face her. "Now, give me your hand."

Abigail took three steps backward before her back met with the wall, and stared at the woman in near horror. Mina frowned.

"Let's not be secretive with one another, Abigail; It would be quite futile for either of us. Give me your hand," she demanded. Abigail felt compelled to reach her injured hand towards the woman, something that she had kept well from her father. She was amazed within herself at these actions taking place without her present state of mind. Mina took her hand gently and removed the cloth that bound the wound. She frowned and led them to a set of chairs similar to the ones in Allan's stateroom. "You really should have shown your father. He deserves to know about these things if for no other reason than to make him feel more like a man."

"He wouldn't have been reasonable about it. He was more protective than mother when it came to my small scrapes and bumps as a child," Abigail countered. Finding her senses, she tried to draw her hand back to herself quickly, but found that it was next to impossible. Mina lifted her eyes reproachfully for a moment.

"I know that you saw the episode in Dorian's flat, Abigail, but there is no cause for you to be alarmed. I have no intention of harming you or anyone else in the near vicinity." Abigail looked down, suddenly realizing that the stinging on her palm had nearly ceased. Mina set down the jar of salve and cloth that she had used to apply it.

_How on earth is she doing all of this without my being able to see or have any say in it_, she wondered. Mina smiled slightly, seeming to hear the girl's thoughts or at least behave as if Abigail's mind were as plain to read as her emotions. The woman reached down fluidly and picked up a roll of clean gauze from nowhere. Abigail watched more out of curiosity than appreciation for the moment. As Mina wrapped her hand carefully in the thin material, Abigail breathed deeply and decided that she was right; secrets would be pointless between two women. "Are you a vampire?" she asked softly.

Mina breathed deeply and picked up the bottle of salve once again and reached forward, this time brushing Abigail's brilliant red locks away from the small cut on her ear. "Yes, but not as fully as the one that tried to turn me," she replied with a hint of satisfaction. "You're not terribly injured, poor thing, but I'm curious as to how on earth you managed to be the only one with a scrape."

Abigail looked away for a moment, feeling all the more embarrassed that she was the only one injured and had not even faced off with any of the attackers. Mina smiled more comfortingly as she swiped the cloth over the tiny wound three times.

"Mr. Sawyer gave me a knife in the event that I would need to defend myself," she said quietly. "I covered my ears when the gunfire began and held too tightly to notice that I had done any damage until it was all over."

"Then it was your blood on the blade," Mina said with a soft chuckle. "All sorts of horrors went through the boy's mind until you showed up in the hold. Now I think he is less concerned that he was unable to defend a hapless maiden in distress."

"That's how everyone will see me no matter what, isn't it?" Abigail said sadly as Mina rose to put the bottle, gauze, and cloth away once again.

"I'm afraid that our current company will see us as something to protect rather than to call upon. This isn't necessarily something terrible, mind you. It does them a world of good to think that they have a woman to defend," Mina said as she closed the topmost cabinet on the wall behind her desk. "The male ego is ever so small, but it can do a great deal of magnificent feats when fed and stroked properly. Think of their behaviour as similar to a. . . well. . . a hunting dog."

"I think you've been dealt a poor hand when it comes to men. Mother doesn't even see father that way and she says he's behaved like a perfect ape," Abigail added.

"That's a strange thing to think about anyone," Mina remarked as she went toward a large suitcase filled with vials and bottles of chemicals accompanied by glass equipment. "How could anyone perfect being an ape?"

Abigail couldn't conceal her laughter for a brief second. She stood and walked over to the case of laboratory supplies that would be set up in anything but a professional environment. She looked over the burners and glass tubing that she had seen for years in Dr. Kruschev's lab. He was said to have invented a more efficient type of gunpowder as well as a way to create a machine that would generate flame, but that hadn't interested Abigail as much as his kindness. Mina watched Abigail's expression become calm and centered at the sight of something very familiar, something that had been associated with her friend. She took hold of a set of glass slides and cleared her throat, commanding Abigail's attention silently away from the objects.

"May I help, then?" Abigail asked softly, gazing almost longingly at the supplies. "My father did ask me to aide you however I could."

"Very well," Mina said pointing towards a large container of distilled water. "Place that carefully on the counter, right over there."

Abigail felt a renewed sense of belonging at taking the container into her hands. She lifted it slowly out of the suitcase and walked very carefully towards the counter top where the rest of the supplies were sitting. She softly placed the container beside a set of empty vials, barely making a sound with it. She turned around once again and watched Mina setting every piece of equipment in place to make a small laboratory of her own. It now seemed every bit as professional as Dr. Kruschev's, albeit a little smaller.

"How long have you been doing this?" Abigail asked in amazement. Mina seemed more familiar with the materials than any of Dr. Kruschev's top assistants that had been in the lab for years. She smiled and placed the last set of files and tongs on the counter as well, then eyed it with complete satisfaction.

"A little less than twelve years," Mina replied. "I wasn't allowed to fully attend a university, but my husband saw that I had true potential."

"I want to attend Oxford when I'm eighteen," Abigail announced proudly. "Mother and father both tell me that I could very well be a talented physician with both modern and traditional African knowledge. It's just a matter of trying to get past the antiquated board of directors."

"I look forward to seeing more women in the scientific field," Mina commented with a smile. "Especially as physicians rather than simply nurses following the orders of their superiors. I would be most interested to know if you accomplish that."

Abigail smiled brightly and then began to walk around the rest of the room quietly, admiring much of the detail in the walls here as well. She imagined the time and craftsmanship that must have gone into the vessel well after the initial creation of its engine and shape. This was as marvelous as any of the paneled study halls back at the school, perhaps more so in that the ship did not have the air of a prison.

"Have you ever seen anything like this?" Abigail asked aloud as she delicately stroked one of the idols carved into the wood. "Such finery at every corner. It must have taken years to build."

"Maybe less than that. Nemo had been constructing it in his mind for years before it was built and I do believe that when a vision comes to life it takes a lot less time than even the simplest of impromptu plans. That and given the fact that Nemo has unexplained genius," Mina replied eyeing the same carvings and art that lined the room. She watched Abigail closely for a few moments more. "It must frighten you to be here, though. The thought of being away from your home, even after being at a boarding school, suddenly being expected to obey your father firsthand again, and then to be surrounded by strangers that have either an implied or rather infamous reputation."

"I'm not afraid," Abigail said defensively. Her voice seemed to remain calm as she spoke, not as high-pitched and juvenile as Mina would have expected. She nodded to herself with admiration. She strode over to where the young girl now stood perfectly still, staring at a small collection of books that had been placed beside the bed.

"I take it that you haven't found your place in England," Mina said, trying to smooth over any ground lost in commenting on the girl's obvious apprehension. "Home must be back in Africa for you, not anywhere else."

"It never will be anywhere else," Abigail said firmly. "I don't care what everyone else says about a proper young lady, I do not want to live anywhere near polite society. Things are far more civilized in the wild. Everything behaves as nature intended; there's no pretense or deception on the savanna."

Mina sat down on the edge of the bed and watched the girl silently for a few moments more. "That sounds refreshing," she said, thinking earnestly about how wonderful it would be to know exactly what someone was thinking or feeling without any games or protocol. Abigail must have led a liberated existence before being forced into life at the hands of a bitter old widow. Mina felt something in the back of her mind come to life. Hadn't Quatermain said that he was twice a widower? She breathed deeply. If Abigail had been at a boarding school, then perhaps it had been due to her mother's passing. Then again, it may have been due to her mother's law that no daughter of hers would live without a proper education. If there would be no secrets, then there would need to be a great deal of questions first, and this was exactly the subject Mina was interested in given Quatermain's disdain for womenkind. "Your mother is. . . ?" she asked cautiously.

"With grandmother, probably staving off another onslaught of men seeking to claim her as their own. Grandmother never approved of mother going to work at all, let alone in Kenya. She disapproved even more at the thought of her marrying a wild man as she said in a letter. All the time that I am there on holiday she drones on about propriety and finding a suitable husband," Abigail sighed heavily and turned back to face her new friend. "I suppose if I don't find a way to get both of us home, then she will be subjected to that until Grandmother mercifully passes on."

Mina raised both eyes in shock at those words. There must have been an enormous tension between the girl and her grandmother. The school and the incidents with her mother were clearly more painful than Abigail would allow anyone to see, but she would have no problems hinting at it every chance she got. Abigail was the image of her father, in spirit at least. She seemed timid and unsure, as was expected for this sort of situation, but there was a bold part of her that would no doubt prove to be amusing alongside her father. The fact that her mother had been brave enough to enter the academic realm and study veterinary medicine, coupled with the courage she had to leave England for Kenya, gave this girl something truly extraordinary to work with. It would simply be a matter of calling on it at the right moment and making sure that she wouldn't be too sheltered in the mean time. A loud series of crashes and banging suddenly began to rock the room as if the ship were a mere trawler in the middle of a typhoon. Abigail looked at Mina with concern. Mina looked back with equal uneasiness and stood, reaching for her long coat again.

"It sounds as though your father's reached his target and retrieved it as well," Mina said casually. A loud roar and snarl that rivaled any of the lions' that Abigail had ever heard reached the upper portion of the ship. "I'm going to have a look. Come along, but stay close to me. The last thing you need is another laceration, a more visible one."

Abigail nodded and followed quickly as the vampiress headed out into the hallway and began making her way towards the hold where they had entered. Abigail felt a strange sense of familiarity at being so close to savage danger once again. As they approached the door that led to the bowels of the ship, a man flew from the room they were headed towards and collided with the wall, sliding slowly to the floor. Abigail instinctively raced forward and knelt, checking to see if the man was alright. Mina laid a hand firmly on her shoulder.

"We need to find him a doctor or something," Abigail said worriedly.

"Let the crew handle this. I'm sure the body count will be rising momentarily if it has not already," Mina said leading them into the room. Abigail was sure her heart would burst from both excitement and fear of this. She smiled slightly. She had missed the small excursions into the untamed with her parents. When her eyes met the creature that was currently the source of the crashing, rocking, and roaring; her expression faded into full shock.

"Is that a man?" she asked breathlessly.

"It will be," Mina replied with amusement.


	4. Courage, Compassion, and Everything

**Chapter 4: Courage, Compassion, and Everything In between**

Dorian and Skinner entered a moment behind Mina and Abigail, all four staring in amazement at the enormous creature that was almost chained to the walls of the hold. Nemo and several other men held spears and other weapons aloft to try and intimidate him, to which the creature replied with louder roars and throwing various crewmen across the way. Skinner was also a victim of falling into the wall, but was luckily caught by Dorian. As Dorian helped the transparent man stand, Abigail was sure that she heard him complain that the immortal had scratched him. She watched the rest of the men around the beast and felt it more than primitive to just stand there and jab at him with pointy sticks. Sawyer stood near Quatermain who tried to find a suitable position to stand and converse with the beast. Abigail watched cautiously as her father turned and addressed the rest of them.

"Stay where you are, if you value your lives," he ordered. He must not have noticed her to seem so casual about this, or at least casual by comparison to think that his only child was yet again near the jaws of death. As the beast threw yet another man across the room, Quatermain stood closer to him and spoke more loudly. "Mr. Hyde, you've done terrible things in England; things so terrible that you fled the country. I'm sad to say that her majesty's government is willing to grant you amnesty in return for your. . . services." The beast, obviously named Hyde, stopped and stared in amusement at her father for a moment. He breathed deeply. "Do you want to go home?"

"_Home_," the beast growled. "_Home is where the heart is, that's what they say. There are some that would argue that I have no heart_." The last few words escaped him as a guttural growl. Abigail stared up at the creature from a distance suddenly feeling pity for him. His face was wet with both spittle and perspiration, but his eyes seemed to be hiding an enormous swelling of tears. She frowned and moved even closer, unnoticed by even Mina at the moment. "_But I have been missing London so. Her sorrow is as sweet to me as a rare wine_."

"Then we have assurances that you will cooperate?" Quatermain asked firmly. Hyde laughed coldly.

"_You, old man, haven't assurance of anything_," he hissed in reply. "_I hardly fear anyone in London; Paris simply called to me. What else would you offer me in return for my services_?" Quatermain and Nemo glared harshly at him as the brute fixed his eyes fully on Mina. A wicked grin of lust crossed his features. "_I'm sure there's a little something more you can spare_."

With that, the beast reached his hand out to snatch Mina in one fist. Mina simply raised one brow in surprise and stepped backwards. Abigail thought that perhaps Mina also saw that the beast was not evil, perhaps simply neglected. There were many times that Sarah had been asked to tend to a wild animal that had been attacking a settlement, usually a wild dog or a bull, that turned out to simply be suffering from an illness or injury. Abigail wondered if the signs of distress in this creature, the sweating, rapid heartbeat, laboured breathing, and lashing out, were simply signs that he was either ill or hurt. She moved even closer as the men around the beast leapt into action to protect Misses Harker from his grasp. Quatermain stepped backwards as he roared and swatted at the men coming at him once again. Again, he slammed man after man into the walls around the room. Nemo watched in horror until he felt he could take no more. He stepped forward, stabbing the end of his spear into Hyde's arm enough to make a small cut. Abigail gasped. She had heard stories in newspapers and from professors about Nemo and how he would attack innocent ships. Was anyone going to realize that this was simply an opportunity for him to harm innocents in person? She raced forward and grabbed hold of the spear while still in his hands. He looked down at her in surprise, still grasping the spear tightly.

"Stop it! You're hurting him!" she shouted. Before either Nemo or Quatermain could move her away from the danger, Hyde laughed loudly and swept the girl into one hand, grasping her around the waist as he held her in front of his face. Mina cried out in sheer terror, rivaled by Quatermain and Sawyer's cries of concern. Abigail stared at the beast for a moment, remaining perfectly still and silent as he stared back.

"Abigail!" Sawyer shouted instinctively. Hyde turned back to the crowd for a moment as Quatermain raised his rifle, taking aim at the brute's head.

"Put her down, Hyde!" he commanded with a tone of panic in his voice. Hyde laughed softly and shifted, looking back into the girl's face with full amusement. "_**Now**_; or it's all up for you!"

"_This one doesn't seem like she belongs with any of you blighters_," he chuckled. "_She's a lovely little thing_." Abigail breathed deeply, still staring into the eyes that she was sure belonged to a poor wounded animal. She looked down at the hand that was grasping her and noted that this was the arm that now sported the small wound from the Captain. She frowned and reached down quickly, tearing another piece of cloth away from the black skirt that belonged to her uniform. Hyde watched with interest as she struggled to lean over his grasp and wipe the blood away that had barely tricked from the wound. She finished after only a few seconds and then stared back up at him in silence. Hyde stopped moving entirely and began to breathe more evenly as he gazed in confusion at the girl. The crowd around them was holding its breath collectively and staring at them with the same bewilderment. The strange silence continued for what seemed like an eternity to some and a breeze to others, before Hyde gently set the girl on the floor in front of him. He still remained too close to her for anyone to move forward and take hold of her, but the others stood uncomfortably at the ready to snatch her away and shoot the beast just to teach him a lesson. To everyone's surprise, Hyde's cruel and nearly monstrous face softened into a smile. He looked down at his arm for a moment and then back to the girl. "_Abigail, is it? That's a beautiful name_."

"Thank you," she replied softly as she folded her hands in front of her and gave a slight bow. "You'll need a doctor to look at that before it goes bad on you."

Hyde let out a boisterous laugh and reached one hand down to the girl, this time to simply lay it carefully on the girl's shoulders. She remained still once again, not trembling or trying to move away at all. He smiled at her.

"_You have no idea who or what I am_," he mused. "_You just leapt forward then tried to take care of this scratch. You'll be a striking woman, little one_."

"Thank you, sir. But I think my father still wants to know that you will help us," she said as boldly as possible. Hyde smiled all the more brightly and leaned forward to the girl until they were as close as before.

"_I'm __**yours**_," he said in a low tone that didn't quite verge on a growl. Quatermain stared in amazement and strained terror at the sight of the beast leaning over his only child suggestively. Hyde moved the hand on her shoulders to her side and scooted her back towards her father, making sure that she was several feet away from him for the moments to come.

Quatermain grabbed hold of Abigail tightly and dropped the rifle. Abigail watched the gesture in confusion, and held onto her father just as tightly. Dorian stepped forward, laughing inwardly at the scene. Sawyer moved to Quatermain's side, doing his best to get close to Abigail without moving between her and Allan. Hyde noticed the boy and growled.

"_Don't be afraid_," he commanded dismissively.

"Who says I'm afraid?" Sawyer replied angrily. Hyde turned and snarled, slinging the last few chains at his wrists at the boy.

"_You do! You stink of fear!_" he shouted. He breathed deeply. "_Everyone in this room grew rank at thinking some sort of harm might have come to __**her**_."

"That's quite a parlour trick," Dorian mused. Hyde glared at him and drew himself up to his full height.

"_You haven't seen anything yet_," he growled. The growl turned into violent howling and contorting. Allan grasped Abigail tightly and turned her away from the sight, keeping her head buried firmly against his side. Abigail squeezed her eyes shut and whispered a prayer repeatedly as the howling ceased and the chains rattled to the floor. Quatermain moved Abigail forward. Mina accepted her by the shoulders and nodded to the old hunter, understanding fully that he wanted the girl out of the room before she could get sight of the half dressed Doctor Jekyll now standing at the centre of the crowd. Mina led the girl gently from the room, keeping a comforting grip on both shoulders.

"I daresay that your father and mother's courage from facing lions is alive and well in you, my dear," she said with kind admiration.

"What's wrong with him?" Abigail sniffed as she steadied herself.

"That's a rather involved story," Mina replied. "Either he or your father would be better at explaining it to you. Come, you should lie down for a moment and catch your breath."

Abigail nodded and took no notice of time as they entered Mina's stateroom. The vampiress led her gently towards the bed and motioned for her to simply lie down. Abigail gave no argument, suddenly feeling quite dizzy and tired all at once. Mina sat down in a chair near the bedside and watched the girl's breathing and colour carefully. She was near unconsciousness, but not in any further danger. The girl closed her eyes tightly, finally feeling the natural fear and shock that had taken hold of everyone else in the room while she had been tending to the brute. Mina watched closely as Abigail slipped momentarily out of consciousness. She decided it best not to try and keep her awake. Perhaps a few minutes of undisturbed peace would do the girl a world of good. She reached over and took her bandaged hand and examined it. The bandage was a little more loose now that she had been far more active than the average young girl, but the tiny cut remained sealed. Mina smiled slightly at the thought that Abigail was destined for odd dangers no matter where she was living. Seeing her out in the wild must have been all the more amusing as a toddler. Abigail shifted and frowned, still keeping her eyes closed tightly. Mina wondered what must have been going through the poor girl's mind at this point. For that matter, she wondered what had been going through the girl's mind when she had jumped towards Mr. Hyde and simply allowed him to take hold of her. Abigail didn't seem to be mad, but why on earth would anyone in their right mind stand in the way of a monster? The door opened suddenly, as Allan walked in and glared at the woman and his child. Mina frowned, seeing that Allan must have been angry at both Abigail and herself.

"Misses Harker, what was Abigail doing in the hold?" he asked angrily. She smiled calmly.

"I'm surprised you didn't see, Mr. Quatermain. It was quite fascinating, really. She and I approached the room and a moment later she was in the firm grip of. . ."

"That was not the question, woman," he said more loudly. Mina raised one brow at him reprovingly and stood to face him. "It's going to be hard enough to keep track of her, but I distinctly remember asking you to keep an eye on her when we made the plan about the hunt in Paris! You need to be more. . . "

"Honest?" Mina interjected. Allan took a step backwards and stared at her in confusion. She smiled, now feeling the power of the upper hand. "I do believe that is something we should all work towards."

"What are you talking about?" he demanded.

"_My dear girl, I've buried two wives and many lovers_," she quoted in her best impersonation of the old man's voice. Quatermain breathed deeply, clenching both hands into fists rather than shouting what he was thinking. "Unless there was a woman before Nathan's mother, which from what I can see of Abigail's memories and feelings is completely untrue, then you lied to everyone in the automobile." Quatermain stared at her in disbelief. How could she have known about that? What had she and Abigail discussed while he had been ashore? Mina turned back towards Abigail's motionless form and smiled. "I'll accept your apology in the form of a more respectful attitude, Mr. Q. As for Abigail and her boundless courage, I suggest you do your utmost to stress the importance of her being more careful while on this voyage."

He frowned and took the seat where Mina had been sitting. She drew in a satisfied breath, having rendered the man speechless for the first time since she had met him. Perhaps now that he needed her help in trying to keep Abigail safe he would be more of a gentleman. Both turned to the doorway as they heard a worried knocking on the frame. Mina motioned for whomever was in the hallway to enter. Allan's expression became all the more peeved at seeing Sawyer nod to Mina and ask to see Abigail. Mina smiled and turned back to Allan, striding back towards the bed.

"Hmm, that's interesting," she mused. "The _American_ knocked."

Allan suppressed the need to shout or growl once again as Sawyer joined him at the girl's side. He suddenly noticed the bandage around her hand and relief washed over him.

"It was _her_ blood on the knife," he said almost happily. Allan looked at him in confusion. "I wanted to ask her about that. How did it happen?"

"She gripped it too tightly, I'm afraid. Other than an accidental wound while hiding, she was completely unscathed," Mina explained. "It was very noble on your part to make sure that she had protection."

"She shouldn't have been there in the first place," Allan muttered.

"Please speak more quietly," Mina commanded. "She can hear everything you're saying."

"She is my daughter, Misses Harker," he reminded coldly. "She could have been killed."

"She seems to be a tough one to me," Sawyer said smiling. Allan frowned at him until he stood and moved back towards the door. "Takes after her old man."

Allan ignored the boy's words as best he could and turned back to Abigail. Mina looked calmly at the both of them.

"She will prove just as important to the voyage as you will, of that I am very sure," Mina said. "The only challenge will be making sure that she doesn't wear herself out before then."

"She's not as timid as I would have expected. She was fearless as a child, but I had thought that England would have changed that," he said laying a hand gently on the girl's head.

"She is timid, Mr. Quatermain, and a little naive as well. She was quite uneasy about speaking with me and allowing anyone to know about the injury on her hand. She's a little bit of a mystery, I think. A quiet and timid girl one minute and a fearless adventurer the next. Her mother must have been similar," she said as she took another set of books from beside the bed and began arranging them carefully on one of the shelves. "You're going to be very busy over the next few days."

"She's far too much like the both of us for her own good," Allan retorted quietly as he stroked the girl's hair away from her face. "I just hope this is over with quickly."

"Never wish for time to pass quickly, Mr. Quatermain. That comes naturally and the fates truly enjoy stealing all that they can from anyone," Mina corrected. "You should let her rest here for a little while. I'll have her up in an hour or so. I sense that it has been a good two weeks since she's slept or eaten properly. That will be more important than keeping her out of danger for the next three days. That should be enough time to make sure she knows what the mission is about and what she can and cannot do to help."

Allan nodded and leaned forward, pressing his cheek against the girl's for a moment. He frowned at feeling how chilled her skin was. As much as he would have liked to have blamed her current situation on either Mina, Mr. Hyde, or even Sawyer, he was forced to think rationally that this was his doing. He breathed deeply and rose from the chair slowly. Mina was right, Abigail needed a few moments to rest and then he could speak with her about the mission and her place in the group. He hadn't explained much to her before he had set out into Paris, another mistake he would not repeat. Keeping her informed was the only way to make sure that she was safe since it was futile to keep her in the dark or out of the way; Abigail had a history of finding her way into small scrapes since her childhood after all. He nodded to Mina and left silently. In a few hours, this would all be something to learn from or laugh at, or both. All that remained was making sure that Abigail knew how serious what had happened had been without making her feel angry or dejected. Allan remembered trying to bypass those reactions with Sarah as well. He smiled and shook his head. That feat alone would be as difficult as keeping Abigail away from danger.


	5. Captain's Orders

**Chapter 5: Captain's Orders**

Abigail awoke after an hour without any intervening. She breathed deeply and tried to gather everything that had happened that evening in her mind. She remembered leaving the school, then vaguely remembered sneaking on board a strange ship, the rest was rather hazy. A voice broke through the cloud that had settled over her mind.

"Better?" Mina asked calmly. Abigail's eyes flashed open as all of the rest of what had transpired suddenly filled her memories clearly. She sighed and drew her legs up pensively, wrapping her arms around them and resting her chin against her knees. "You haven't been out for too long. Is your head hurting?"

"No," Abigail replied. She looked up nervously. "Is my father angry?"

Mina smiled and sat down on the edge of the bed near her. "He was," she said. "He thought better of it after a moment, though. It wasn't your fault entirely, after all."

"It happened so quickly," Abigail said moving to the other side of the bed and climbing off. "Is he any better? They did get him to a doctor, didn't they?"

"He is a doctor; well, part of him is," Mina replied as she stood and watched Abigail move towards the door. "Dr. Jekyll is one of two persons that occupy the same body. The entity that occupies him at other times, the creature that you recently met, is called Mr. Hyde. It's a strange case, but so far I think he and the others have come to an understanding that only the one persona will be allowed on the ship and the other will have to make itself known when in action with your father."

"Father agreed to that?" Abigail asked in confusion. Allan had been uneasy enough around the wild animals that Sarah often tended. She frowned. "I hope he doesn't lose control. He's done that before when we were in Tsavo. That was for somewhat of a different reason, of course, but both involved an animal that father had initially promised to work alongside."

"What happened?" Mina asked with interest.

Abigail looked away, feeling every nerve coming back to life slowly. "He killed a ninety-year old lion," she replied.

"Gracious, I didn't know that an animal like that could live for so long," Mina said as she stood and walked to the door beside her.

"I suppose it was a little unusual, but that wasn't the troubling part," Abigail said with a touch of disgust in her voice. "The Masai boma, I mean, _village_ fed him a human sacrifice every so often, I suppose because they felt, being pure white and living so long, that he was sacred. Mother felt that she might have been able to get them to stop doing it. Father was on a mission to track down thieves using the Tana river as means of transporting and hiding their goods. Father was successful, mother wasn't."

Mina shuddered at the thought of cannibal tribes, man-eating beasts, and human sacrifices; those were things usually associated with Africa and its peoples. Over the years, many researchers and brave adventurers like Quatermain had tried to drive away all of the nonsense from England that Africa was entirely savage and filled with bloodthirsty natives and wild animals. The dark continent was still a mystery to most, but it now seemed less savage than before to those with proper information. Mina and those in the upper class like her, still held to the thought that anywhere void of England's monarchy and verdant rolling landscape was an unnatural and inhuman place to be. It went without saying that anything unnatural or inhuman held less apprehension and more intrigue for anyone like Mina. The two stood wordlessly at the door for a moment.

"Are you sure you're alright now?" Mina asked cautiously, noting that Abigail still seemed quite uneasy.

"Yes," she replied calmly. "I need to ask my father about a few things." Mina nodded and reached for the doorhandle. "I heard you while I was asleep. Did you really mean what you said; about me being able to do as much for this mission as my father?"

The woman smiled brightly and placed her hand on her shoulder as she opened the door. "It is never wise to say anything that you don't mean, Abigail. I do think that, given the right tasks, it will be a blessing that you showed up."

Abigail smiled gratefully and began to walk out of the room. She stopped for a moment, still a little unsure of which stateroom was her father's. She turned towards Mina once again as the woman closed the door to the room behind them. Before Abigail could ask anything further, the first mate approached both of them quickly. He nodded politely to each in turn.

"Dinner is served," he said emotionlessly. Abigail looked towards Mina, who nodded in reply to the man. "Follow me, then."

Abigail walked behind the two, wondering silently about what they would encounter in the diningroom. Another thought found its way to the front of her consciousness. She gasped in realizing that Sawyer had wanted to ask her something when he and her father had returned from Paris. What if he had wanted to ask her something important? In truth, it simply thrilled her to think of speaking with him again. His voice was like nothing she had ever heard before and his accent continued to amuse her at every turn. It wasn't a typical American accent, it must have been from an odd region of the nation. Perhaps he was from one of the newer 'states', one of the more untamed frontiers as they were called. The dining room was quite a ways away from the rest of the ship that Abigail had seen, but it too looked enormous and incredibly detailed, at least from the doorway. Mina entered before her, but before she could enter the first mate took her by the hand.

"The Captain wishes to have a word with you for a moment," he said. Abigail looked at him in surprise. "He'll be here in a moment, but I don't think he means for you to wait. Come with me."

Abigail sighed heavily and looked through the doorway, eyes fixed longingly on Sawyer. She nodded slowly and turned back to man. "Lead the way, then," she said.

The man nodded quickly and began leading them away from the diningroom. They walked down two hallways and then up a flight of stairs. Abigail looked around them as they walked silently. Every inch of the ship was covered with either carvings or detailed paintings that gave the vessel the look of both a home and a means of transportation. Did the crew and the captain live here? She had never heard of the ship, the Nautilus as it was known, making port anywhere. She supposed that being the same vessel that had caused death and destruction to both war and passenger ships alike, that nearly everyone on board would have been arrested if it had made port. She frowned and felt a wave of nausea wash over her at suddenly remembering that she had shouted at the captain and given him a semi-reprimand for harming the beast in the hold. She suddenly felt the urge to turn and walk hurriedly back to the diningroom towards the safety of her father and Sawyer. Before she was able to make the urge an action, they had arrived at the bridge. This room was quite bare save for enormous windows, shelves with maps and books about navigation, and the helms. The first mate called to the captain, who stood at one of the windows observing the sunset. Nemo turned and motioned for the man to leave the two of them alone for a moment. The man nodded and left quickly. Abigail's heart began to race madly, but she knew better than to behave as if she were terrified. She turned and folded her hands politely in front of her and watched the captain turn away from the window and face her.

"Miss Quatermain," he said pleasantly. "I trust you've recovered from your ordeal."

"Yes, sir," she replied as calmly as possible. "It was a mere inconvenience for me, I believe it was more traumatic for my father."

"I'll agree with that," he said striding towards her. Abigail took one step backwards as he stopped and stared down at her. "You seem just as. . . bold as your father," he remarked casually. "I cannot recall anyone having tried to stop me from using a weapon in many years."

Abigail stared back at him with strained resolve. "It was aggravating the situation more than helping it. . .," she replied firmly. He raised a brow, finding her loyalty to her actions more amusing than ever. Most anyone else in her present situation would be apologizing. "Sir," she finished.

"Indeed," he said slowly. "I believe I was overwhelmed with the number of men the brute had injured. It did not justify harming him. He should have been better restrained, not tormented. It is good to find someone with that wisdom and the fortitude to carry it out."

She stared back at him in surprise. "You mean, you aren't angry?"

He smiled. "No, not at all. Confused, though. You seemed terrified when first arriving, but in the hold you seemed to be in your element," he remarked. "That will come in useful, even if you never see the action that the rest of us do. I do believe that fate saw you to us for a reason."

She smiled, blushing with the first real compliment anyone had paid her in years that wasn't already a trusted friend or acquaintance. "Thank you, sir." She looked out towards the nearest window, sighing softly at the thought of being so far away from her mother and the school. The one was enjoyable, the other quite sad. "May I go now?"

"A moment," he said as he took a small object from the shelf nearest him. Abigail narrowed her eyes to try and see what it was. The only other things on the shelf were maps and a large compass. He walked slowly towards her and held it out for her to see. "Do you know what this is?"

Attached to a loop of finely woven cord was a large medallion comprised of pearl and onyx. The symbol that it made was completely foreign to the girl. It looked as though two drops of water, one made of white pearl with an onyx dot at the centre of its head and one made of onyx with a pearl dot at its centre, had been carved into a perfect circle. He held it closer for her, motioning for her to take it. She gently took it into her hand and examined it carefully. This was the strangest piece of jewelry she had ever seen, including anything that had come from tribesman on the Kalahari. She thought for a few moments, trying to place something, anything with it.

"I've never seen anything like it before," she said in amazement. "It's lovely and, well, thought provoking. What is this symbol?"

"It is from China. I've spent much time in the Orient studying both weaponry and peace. China's legends are fascinating and tied directly to their artwork, like this necklace. The dark and the light are symbols of their legend of the noble dragon and the wicked phoenix. They call it the yin and yang," he explained. "As you can see, both have one another's colour in a small part and fit perfectly together. It is a lesson about the principle of the existence of good and evil, of knowledge and action."

"That the one cannot exist without the other," she realized aloud. She ran one finger over the central line that swerved at the edge of either droplet. "Such a deep lesson in something so simple."

"Simplicity usually holds volumes of silent wisdom, Abigail. I think, perhaps, that you have learned more from your observations than many of my elders learned in front of scrolls and books. This is something to take great pride in, if it is correctly applied," he said as he reached forward and softly closed both her hands around the medallion. "I think you have proven that correct application of what you've observed will hardly be an obstacle for you. Keep this, it will bring you luck."

"Father and mother don't believe in luck," she said as she looked back up into his ancient eyes. "Yet our family never seemed to run out of it when the worst happened. Are you sure you want me to have this? It must have taken quite a bit to acquire it."

"It will serve you better than I. I've never been much for necklaces," he replied.

Abigail smiled and slipped the cord around her neck immediately. The medallion was heavy, giving testimony to its value and craftsmanship. She marveled at its shape and texture a moment more. "Thank you," she said in nearly a whisper. He nodded and lifted a hand towards the door.

"I believe we should join the others before your father worries where you are," he said.

"That won't stop just because I'm next to him," Abigail laughed as they headed down the stairs.


	6. First Night and Important Task

**Chapter 6: First Night and Important Task**

The two arrived back in the diningroom after only a few seconds. Abigail noted that the journey to a room after having been there once was much faster than trying to find it a first time, or at least it seemed that way for the time being. She took the seat between her father and Sawyer quickly, noticing that the two had very different looks in their eyes. Sawyer was overjoyed to see her and seemed nothing short of pleased to be sitting where he was. Allan was relieved to see his daughter and have her beside him, but kept glancing towards the boy uneasily. Abigail thought that perhaps her father was apprehensive about having two young persons on this mission. She would just have to be more mature from that point on and advise Sawyer to do the same. Nemo took his place at the head of the table, looking out with contentment at the others. Initially, each had contemplated trying to stay as isolated as possible during the journey, but Abigail's presence was intriguing enough to sacrifice a few moments of privacy from the others, just to have the amusement that she seemed to be providing. The meal was relatively quiet, by comparison to what everyone had anticipated. Abigail stayed silent and continued to glance to her side every chance she had. This made Allan all the more uneasy about having the girl near the young American. Either Sawyer saw the girl as a child that needed protecting as well, or he was doing a very good job of keeping true intentions hidden from most everyone else. The older men and Mina spoke casually about what they needed to accomplish the next day as well as lighter things like weather, politics, and even a few stories from their pasts. Abigail hadn't seen such different people getting along in all her life, although the conversation still seemed to have a tone of reserve.

After nearly two hours of complete silence and observation, Abigail was called to leave by her father. The two nodded politely to the other guests and left swiftly. Abigail was still focused on the thought of Sawyer having been so close to her for such an extended period of time. She breathed a sigh of satisfaction, not noticing that she had just entered her father's stateroom and he had closed the door. He frowned and moved towards the set of drawers that held the papers and writing supplies that Abigail had peeked through earlier. He looked up, noting that she was still gazing off into the distance.

"Abigail," he called firmly. She jumped for a second and then turned to him, shaking off her fixation on the horizon of first love. He sighed heavily and set a stack of papers on the end table between the two chairs that they had used to chat when she had been discovered. He took a seat in the same chair and motioned for her to do the same. "You ran away from school to rescue your friend, a professor, correct?"

"Yes, father," she replied smiling brightly. He smiled back with less enthusiasm. This whole ordeal was going to take precious years from him, years that would exhaust him. "Professor Wilhundt Kruschev had many theories about weaponry and energy that had been dismissed by the scientific world, but he claimed that anyone with a penchant for war would have a perfect holiday with his findings."

"Then that is exactly why he was taken," Allan said setting one of the papers with a picture affixed to it in front of her. Her eyes widened and she began to breathe rapidly as if seeing a former enemy. He narrowed his eyes at her in concern. "You've seen this man before, haven't you?"

"Yes," she whispered as she picked up the paper. She stared at it silently for a few moments and softly touched the picture. "This man was there, he ordered his men to take Dr. Kruschev. He was speaking German, but he didn't sound German at all."

"Explain," Allan ordered with interest.

"Well, he spoke the words as if he'd learned them from someone else, an almost false Russian accent and not as if he had grown up with them. Also, he seemed to be hiding his voice, it quivered as if he needed to cover his words with a mask as well. I wonder if he's using a disguise," she said still staring at the picture. "He didn't even notice the papers left on top of the table," she muttered to herself.

Allan gave her a side glance. "What papers?" he asked. If Abigail knew about something the Fantom was after directly, or worse, had it with her, then they were in greater danger than simply being on a mission to stop him. They would need to be on the defensive as well. Abigail frowned and reached down to one of the hidden pockets on her skirt, withdrawing two small folded pieces of paper. She handed them carefully to her father who stared at them in greater concern than ever before. On the papers in poor, but legible, handwriting was a complicated formula with the German words 'Wunder Kraft' written below. "Oh dear," he muttered. "How long after he was taken did you leave?"

"Two weeks," she replied. "I would have gone sooner, but Scotland Yard and numerous other authority figures kept asking all these questions. A man from the Ministry of Defense even asked if he might have mother's permission to put me in protective custody, but I think she refused. He was odd, when I met him. He seemed a little off to me."

"Do you remember his name?" Allan asked, wondering if the same man that had recruited them had tried to stave off Abigail's venture before it had begun.

"No; his assistant was a Mr. Sanderson Reed. He looked a little too young to be working for the empire, but I suppose in times of peril anyone is acceptable to serve," she said with a shrug. Allan closed his eyes and smirked. Indeed, M had tried to stop Abigail from getting entangled in this. Why Sarah hadn't seen it necessary to do the same was beyond his reasoning. "Mother was unavailable to the school for permission, meaning grandmother probably didn't want that kind of worry on her while she tried to find her a proper man. Vicar Bakersham told him that unless mother agreed directly, that they would not allow anyone to either visit or remove me from the school."

"That was responsible," Allan said. "At any rate, the reason that myself and all the other people on this ship were called together, is to put a stop to this Fantom, as he's calling himself before he brings on a worldwide war. The Ministry of Defense has claimed to have summoned others to form a 'League of Extraordinary Gentlemen' several times in the past. This case will by far be the strangest; a man planning to make profit on a war of all nations. He's kidnaped all sorts of men versed in weapons of war and even a structural engineer."

"Then he's planning on transporting the weapons on the battlefield itself, or at least try to transport them more quickly than the average leader," she commented as she glanced over the paper. She frowned and bit her bottom lip pensively. Her eyes darted to the side, hiding a worry that she had thought without voicing for several days now. Allan looked more closely at her.

"What is it?" he asked.

"You don't think that this man could have been after me, I mean, that the Minister would have been right in protecting me?" she asked softly. "I'm not in danger now, am I, of being pursued?"

Allan looked down at the two papers that she had given him and pushed aside the desire to explain to her how dangerous the pursuance of young men like Sawyer was to young girls like her. He exhaled sharply and reached forward to hand both papers back to her. He froze and stared into nothing for a moment, thinking carefully about what to do next. Abigail watched him curiously and reached forward to take the papers from him. He pulled them back suddenly, folding them even tighter in his hands.

"Have you memorized what is on these papers?" he asked.

"Yes, long before Dr. Kruschev was taken," she replied.

He frowned and slipped them into his shirt pocket until he could decide on a more suitable place for them. "Then I wouldn't say that you aren't being pursued. If someone knows that you have the formula in your mind or on paper, then they might come after either one," he reasoned. "You're safest here in either case. The fact that you're with people that know what is happening regarding the whole situation and are in the position to protect you is good. I really wish your mother had allowed you protection from the Ministry."

Abigail frowned and looked to the side. "I think she's more of a prisoner than I was at the school," she said sadly. Allan shook his head, trying to focus on the issue at hand rather than the horrific thought of Sarah being held captive. She was as strong and wild as he was, perhaps more so; caging her was nothing short of torture. "How can I help get Dr. Kruschev back? I can do that, can't I?"

He smiled. "Well, for one thing try and stay out of the way of the enemy. You are a target, Abigail. I wish I could stress that to you without terrifying you, but the truth of the matter is that you are in as much danger as any scientist that hasn't been taken," he said. Abigail's expression froze. She looked down, not frightened, but disappointed. Surely she would have been unimportant and useless enough to sneak in and rescue her friend without anyone taking notice. It felt absolutely dreadful to be important in this sense; it felt weak. Allan drew in a deep breath and took four other files from the stack of papers, setting them in front of her. Abigail was drawn out of her own pity as she looked down at them. Clipped to each were photographs, photographs of the people that were aiding her father. There was a rather current photograph of Nemo, a stunning likeness of Dorian, one of what must have been the man called Skinner, and one of Mina on the arm of a stern looking gentleman. Abigail examined the picture of the couple for a moment. That must have been Mina's husband, the chemist that saw her potential. She smiled and looked back at the picture of Dorian Gray. She frowned. There was something odd about the photograph. She pulled it more closely to her face and examined the edges and texture of the subject. She smiled slightly. "I thought you might see things that I don't. That is what I want you to do in the meantime. Find out who exactly we can trust and just who we can't."

She nodded silently and then looked slowly back at her father. "This is most unusual," she said with a bright grin.

"What is?" he asked.

She held the picture up for him to see clearly. "Look, the picture has edging within the edges. Not just that, but there's a sort of filmy haze over Mr. Gray himself. It looks as though this wasn't a picture of Mr. Gray, but a picture of a picture. I wonder why this is here? Why would anyone photograph a portrait?" Allan looked carefully at the photo, trying to catch what the keen eyes of his daughter had. He frowned. Either his age, gender, or mental status were preventing him from seeing it with the same attributes that she had seen in a moment. "More importantly, does Mr. Gray have a phobia of having his picture taken?"

"I imagine he's very superstitious, now. He's certainly old enough to have reached a point of being afraid of everything while being surprised by nothing," Allan said softly as he looked once more at the snapshot. He frowned and handed it back to the girl. "Here, take all of these files and tell me exactly what you think of each tomorrow evening. I'm relying on your judgement of character. It's usually flawless in humans, animals are a different story entirely."

Abigail nodded and grasped the bundle of files tightly. As small and insignificant as the task seemed, she was overjoyed to not only have something to do, but something her father clearly could not. She felt useful and, most importantly, empowered by this. She stood and looked around the room a moment more, glancing over the furniture uneasily. She looked back to her father as he stood and walked towards the door.

"Where am I going to sleep?" she asked worriedly. He smiled and took hold of the handle.

"That's what I'm about to ask. Stay here and look over those for a few minutes," he ordered.

Abigail nodded and sat back down with a heavy sigh. She didn't know which would be more uncomfortable, staying in the same room as her father or staying alone with all these strange persons and criminals walking about freely. She clutched her shoulders for a moment, suddenly feeling quite cold as her father left the room. The ship was beneath the water traveling somewhat more slowly, but the fact that it was now night coupled with the temperature of the water was making the ship seem almost freezing. She sighed heavily and walked to the door, listening carefully to anything transpiring outside. A few crewmen walked past, chattering in their native tongue, but nothing significant seemed to be happening. She began striding casually around the room, glancing over the different objects and architecture with admiration. Tiredness was beginning to settle over her like a blanket. All of the past few days of excitement and then the past few hours of activity had made her more weary than ever. The closest she could compare it to was the hard journey from Africa to England itself. Her face twisted in anger and sadness at remembering the trip and everything it meant. She shook her head furiously; now was not the time for reminiscing. A loud knocking at the door allowed her a wonderful distraction from those memories. The person at the door couldn't have been her father; why would he knock at his own door? She walked cautiously to the frame and opened the door slowly. She still wasn't sure who was safe and what was safe to say for the rest of the journey. Everything about this was so strange and seemed more dangerous now than anything in the wild had. As she opened the door, she stared in confusion at the figure that met her. This man was well-dressed and groomed. In fact, she had seen him at the dinner table. Henry, he had been called. She couldn't remember having seen him in either Mr. Gray's flat or at any other point on the ship. Could he have been some sort of important member of the crew? She shook her head once again as she looked up at him through the barely opened door.

"Yes?" she said softly.

"Miss Abigail," the man replied meekly with a bow. "I just wanted to thank you. You are the first, well, only person to have ever been kind to me at my worst. I came to make sure you weren't hurt."

Abigail stared at him in disbelief. This was the doctor that occupied the same body as Mr. Hyde. She looked him over cautiously while opening the door further. This couldn't be right. This man wasn't even the same size as Hyde had been. His features were softer and obviously accustomed to smiling comfortingly towards people in need. This must have been a mistake. Then again, Mina had described the whole process as being strange, which was something coming from a vampire. She breathed deeply and cleared her throat.

"I'm fine, thank you. Did the wound on your arm. . . heal?" she asked nervously. He smiled.

"It's alright. Thanks to your quick thinking. Loss of blood is dangerous for anyone, but in that form it could be very detrimental in a permanent way," he said. "Again, I thank you. I hope to see you tomorrow."

She nodded slowly as her father approached them. He stared at the two reprovingly and motioned for the doctor to be on his way. Jekyll nodded and bid them both good evening. Allan looked down at his daughter, who still stared out into the hallway in confusion. She frowned.

"Father, is there anyone on board who isn't something abnormal?" she asked.

"Well," he began as he entered the room. "There's me."

"You're hardly normal, father," she replied playfully. He smiled and reached down for the stack of papers still left on the table, the few that hadn't made it to the bundle that Abigail was holding.

"What about Sawyer?" he asked, waiting uncomfortably for the response. To his dismay, a look of longing and admiration crossed her expression.

"I suppose he isn't dangerous or abnormal," she said with a sigh. He frowned and dropped the papers into the drawer, closing it with a harsh shove.

"If you don't count the fact that he's an American," he snorted and walked back towards the door. "Come along. I've found a place for you."

Abigail nodded quickly and shifted the stack of files still grasped under one arm. Allan took a moment to look at the young girl now standing in front of him. He had given her quite a task. It wouldn't be easy for her to tell the truth about any of them, given her compassion for all living creatures, let alone discover it. Still, he felt that she would be the best candidate to uncover anything minuscule and unpleasant before it became a situation. Not that he anticipated such a thing on board the ship, but there were at least three things about each member of the league that set him on edge. It was time to find out through unprejudiced eyes just who was to worry about and who wasn't. Abigail followed, beginning to feel the distinct urge to lie down and sleep for days taking hold of her. Allan led her down the hallways for several minutes. The girl looked curiously at the path they were taking. She must have been down this way before since it seemed both familiar and faster than she would have expected, especially being so tired. Allan stopped in front of a large door and knocked three times. Abigail looked at him in confusion. Why would he knock on the door if the room was hers? The door opened. Abigail felt a twinge of uneasiness move the tiredness to the side and sit expectantly at the forefront of her mind. She had been down this way before.

"Ah, there you are," Mina said kindly. She looked at Allan with a comforting smile. "Don't worry, she'll be quite safe and undisturbed."

"I'm counting on that," Allan said firmly and looked down at the girl. "Go on."

"But father, I. . . " she sputtered. He lifted a brow at her commending. She sighed and looked to the side. Her father rarely showed the same signs of exhaustion that many other people did, but he was clearly feeling it now. He was in no mood to negotiate anything. She nodded resolutely and entered the room. Mina nodded once again to the man and closed the door behind them. "I hope this isn't an imposition," she said uncomfortably. In the adjoining chamber, which actually held the bed and a few bookshelves, a smaller bed had been prepared and set in the far corner. Abigail sighed and moved slowly towards it. The main part of the chamber, holding the chemistry equipment and the majority of the books and supplies, was almost completely darkened while the bedchamber still had dim lights lit. Mina walked over to one of the trunks and opened it, smiling brightly.

"Your father is more on edge about the presence of so many men on board then you are," she commented with amusement. "Though I think he would only have to worry about one in particular if he truly thought about it." She looked through the contents of the trunk for a few moments until withdrawing something made of fine white cloth. Abigail turned and watched as she walked calmly towards her. "Here, I won't have you sleeping in your uniform."

Abigail accepted the cloth, unfolding it immediately. To her surprise, this was a night-gown that was far too small to have belonged to Mina herself. She looked at it curiously and then turned her gaze back to the woman.

"Where did you get this?" she asked in confusion.

Mina smiled and began rummaging through the trunk again. "We were docked in Paris for about a half an hour before your father set out to capture Hyde. I decided it best to act where all the men would forget to. I was fortunate enough to have packed for the voyage before we began. Men hardly have the mindset to do any real preparations for such things," she explained. "Go on, it's getting late."

Abigail nodded and slipped behind the dressing screen, placing the different, and rather uncomfortable, portions of the uniform over the screen and the stack of files on the floor. The gown was made of cool and welcoming cotton. Abigail smiled at remembering the free fitting cotton she had worn in her childhood. Since she had been at the school, wool and linen had replaced any comfort she had felt in the way of clothing. She slipped on the gown in one fluid motion, smoothing and straightening it with near affection. She sighed and walked away from the screen, noting that the pieces of her uniform were now missing. She shook her head. Mina moved more quickly and more silently than even her father. This was something she would just have to get used to if she was going to be staying with the woman for the remainder of the voyage. In truth, it seemed a better arrangement than trying to stay in the same room as her father. Mina waited patiently, still dressed fully as Abigail walked towards what must have been her bed. She sat down on the edge and took hold of the medallion that Nemo had given her, gazing it pensively as she stroked each half of the symbol. Mina walked towards her and looked down at her.

"What is that?" she asked. Abigail looked up at her for a moment, then turned back to the inspiring symbol that was the entire medallion.

"Nemo gave it to me. He says it's from China," she replied without looking up. "The two symbols are opposites. I would love to hear the whole story behind it. He says it has a dragon in it among other things. It represents the principle of equals an opposites. Like Newton's Third Law, I suppose."

"I see," Mina said as she studied the medallion as carefully. "It's lovely. Your friends at the school would be jealous."

"I haven't any friends," Abigail muttered quickly as she slipped the medallion under the front of the gown and pulled back the covers. "Only Dr. Kruschev."

Mina frowned. As difficult as the next few days would be for Allan, they would be just as hard for Abigail. "I'm afraid I was a little to rambunctious to have friends at the school I attended. It wasn't a boarding school, mind you, but it was terribly dull and all of my schoolmates were just as interesting as the materials taught," Mina said with a sigh. "I still remember the one fight I managed to find myself in. I thought my mother would never let me out of the house again."

Abigail looked up at the woman in surprise. "You had a fight at school? That doesn't seem possible. You're almost as proper as my grandmother, without the nauseating delicacy that she has, though," Abigail remarked. Mina laughed and leaned closer to the girl.

"Well, there was a girl in attendance with me named Margaret. Her family was quite wealthy and she always had what she wanted and said what she felt even if what she said wasn't true. She once said to the entirety of the school that I was too shy and fearful of everything and therefore quite mad. So, I firmly asserted to her that I was neither shy nor fearful, but quite mad," she explained. The two laughed for a moment. "I never had to apologize or even change my location for schooling; but I did, from that point on, have no hope of being close to anyone there. I did have a dear friend some years later after finishing school."

"What happened to her then? Are you still on speaking terms?" Abigail asked curiously. Mina frowned.

"Lucy died some time before Jonathan, my husband, and I were married," she explained sadly. "It was because of her death that I fought the creature that attacked me so furiously."

"She was killed by a vampire?" Abigail said in surprise. Mina looked away for a moment. Abigail was sure she could see true sorrow in the woman's eyes. The whole subject of the attack and her turning must have been a painful one, but interesting to most others. She sighed and remained silent while Mina gathered her thoughts.

"Not a good subject before sleeping. We have a long day tomorrow. Did you know that this vessel uses the power of the sun?" she asked almost excitedly. Abigail's eyes widened in curiosity. "We'll have to be above water for some time so that it can refuel itself. I'm sure we'll be able to go up on the deck for a while during that time."

"I'd like that," Abigail said softly. She yawned and breathed deeply. "I need to sleep for a month."

"I don't believe you could sit still for a day let alone a month," Mina replied with a laugh. She leaned forward, softly kissing the top of Abigail's head for less than a second. Abigail looked back with gratitude for the woman's kindness despite the strain of the situation. "Get some sleep. Tomorrow will be yet another leg of a long adventure."

Abigail nodded and slipped under the covers, feeling her limbs grow numb with exhaustion almost immediately. She closed her eyes and did her best to settle into sleep gently. She had slept too deeply on some occasions where she hadn't slept well for days. Those occasions usually found her waking with a terrible headache and a poor disposition. She could afford neither over the next few days. She needed to be both cunning and charming. Abigail thought briefly about the task her father had given her as the lights dimmed to nothing around her. She knew for certain that she could trust her father. Sawyer seemed more trustworthy than any of them and Mina was obviously along to help not harm. She breathed deeply and slipped out of consciousness thinking of the four men in the group. Which ones were truly out for the good of the mission? Her mind wandered back to the photograph of Dorian as she slept. Her dreams pouring over what an unusual image seeing a portrait within a portrait was. Then again, to look at any of the others was to see a man within a man. Nothing on the vessel or in the presence of this crowd would ever be as it seemed.


	7. First Day and Second Task

**Chapter 7: First Day and Second Task**

Abigail could have sworn that she had dreamt about numerous photographs or portraits that came to life and spoke to her; but when she awoke, all she could think about having seen in her sleep was Sawyer. She smiled brightly at remembering him leaning out of an ornate bronze frame and telling her, in his adorable American accent, that 'she sure was the prettiest thing he ever saw'. Abigail pulled her hair behind her head and climbed out of the bed quickly. She yawned and looked around for a moment, trying to locate the uniform that Mina had removed from the dressing screen the night before. She frowned at realizing it was nowhere in sight. Mina approached her less than a heartbeat after her realization, already dressed for the day. Abigail took a step backwards and nodded politely.

"Good morning, Abigail," she said melodically. Abigail smiled back.

"Good morning, Misses Harker. I slept very well last night, did you?" she asked cordially. Mina nodded, noting that it was too early for the girl to make conversation other than what she had been taught was proper among her elders. It would take a little more effort to make Abigail feel safe around her. "I need to find my clothes, but they aren't where I left them."

"Indeed. That uniform is not something that would be suitable in the likely event of an emergency," Mina explained. "I hardly think it proper for you to be bound by wool at your knees and shoulders if you found yourself in need of running or hiding once again. Here," she reached to the nearest shelf in the section of the room behind her and picked up a small bundle. "This should fit you and make it a little easier to breathe."

Abigail unfolded the layers of cloth that she had been handed. There was a set of modest clothing for a girl her age, a sensible dress that was loose enough from the waist down to spread out like a set of wings and sleeves that hung like bells from the elbow down. The dress was an emerald green and the underclothes were white. Abigail frowned at noting how basic the undergarments were. There wasn't a corset or a petticoat, simply a slip and underwear. She looked up at the woman in surprise.

"This isn't quite complete, Misses Harker. Father wouldn't approve if he knew and grandmother would have a hysterical breakdown if she were here," Abigail said looking to the side.

"Well, then it is fortunate that your grandmother is not here and that your father will not be examining your underclothes," Mina replied. Abigail took a step backwards again, looking at Mina with suppressed excitement. "The rest of what is considered proper is, again, unnecessary. I think you'll find it quite liberating and practical to be without them. Go on," she said smiling brightly. Abigail turned immediately and set about dressing just as quickly as she had for bed. As soon as she had finished wrapping the two sides of the bow around her waist and tying it in the back, she stepped out from behind the screen and breathed an enormous sigh of relief. This cloth was also made of cotton, but the undergarments were of French silk. It wasn't likely that the vampiress had been given enough time to visit a haberdashery in the dead of night in Paris, but the streets were lined with laundry lines. Abigail felt it best not to ask exactly how Mina had acquired the clothing. In the first, she did not want to seem ungrateful; and in the second, she did not at all believe that Mina would have simply stolen without doing something to make it seem right to even the victims of the theft. "That suits you, and the rest is hardly noticeable," Mina said approvingly. "Come along, your father will want to speak with you at breakfast to make sure that you made it through the night."

Abigail nodded excitedly and followed after her new friend. Indeed, the word friend seemed more and more like it would fit the woman. She obviously seemed to have some sort of concern for her. The diningroom was already in use and filled with the conversation of men wandering what on earth each and every noise they heard during the night was. Abigail took a seat beside her father, thinking to herself that she hadn't heard anything at all. She must have been far too exhausted to have been alert enough to hear the creaking and groaning that nearly everyone else was going on about. Sawyer entered a moment after Mina and Abigail, taking the same seat that he had at dinner the previous evening. He and Abigail exchanged glances and smiles every few seconds. Allan turned towards the boy, frowning with slight irritation. The boy might have meant no harm, but he would do well to keep his distance from the girl if his intentions were pure. He sighed and watched his daughter, making sure that she ate enough before calling an end to their presence in the diningroom. After the meal had finished and the day was fully settled over the sea, Nemo alerted everyone in the league that they were more than welcome to go up to the deck while the Nautilus recharged its solar panels. On the way up the stairs, Abigail feverishly asked question after question to him about how the solar panels worked and how he had created them. By the time they were at the sun kissed edge of the deck itself, she was fully convinced that all of London could run on the sun's power for at least half the year and be the better for it.

"Imagine all of the things that could be eliminated with it," she said excitedly to the captain. "All of the people with weak lungs that cannot stand the use of coal wouldn't be sick any longer, and all of the money the poor would save on heating their homes and having to cook. It would change the world! You must tell someone how to use this!"

"Alas, no one listened when I presented it to the whole of Europe and Asia as a boy," he said looking sadly over the railings. Abigail looked up at him in amazement. He gave a half smile, noticing her sincere interest in the rest of that story. "I was actually your age precisely when I configured everything I thought I would need to run a ship like this one. Of course, there were things I added in time, but all of the science you see here right now was devised when I was very young. At age fifteen, I decided that I could help do away with disease in my country and others by introducing energy that would cost nothing and use only what the gods gave us. Poverty is, after all, the foremost cause of human suffering and war. Unfortunately, my age and station were against me. In time, there may yet be someone else who the leaders of the world will hear and learn from." He looked down at the girl with a brighter grin. "Someone who, perhaps, was brave enough to set out on their own and do everything they could for those they loved."

"If only bravery were enough," Abigail said folding her arms over the rails. "I'm beginning to think that I left a little ill-prepared."

He laughed loudly and patted her shoulder fondly. "I think you carried exactly what you needed with you, miss Quatermain. The rest will simply be details," he said as he strode away casually. Abigail smiled and looked to either side. Dr. Jekyll stood at the very end of the deck, admiring the numerous silver idols that rose from different portions of the ship below. Mina stood at another portion of the railing some distance away, also gazing out into the horizon until Mr. Gray approached. Abigail now heard her father's and Sawyer's voices from the other side of the large entranceway that stood like a tiny building between her and the two men. She listened carefully, unseen and wishing to remain unheard for a few moments.

"Then what is all this smiling and playful chatting with Abigail?" Allan asked firmly. "If you weren't interested then why pay any attention at all?"

"She's a cute little girl, Mr. Quatermain, probably as pretty as her mother. You must be very proud," Sawyer replied. Abigail felt her heart sink a few beats, slipping towards her stomach. "She's very young, though. Besides, I'm sure I've seen Misses Harker glancing my way as well."

Abigail felt fire begin to burn in her veins. She couldn't believe what she was hearing! After he had the nerve to invade her thoughts and dreams for the better part of a day and night! She had allowed him into her breathing and heartbeat! That insolent cad!

"She's out of your league, boy," Allan laughed.

Abigail turned back to see what Mina and Mr. Gray were up to. With any luck, Mr. Gray would be wooing her away from Sawyer entirely. It wouldn't take much, after all. Dorian was a handsome and witty gentleman with a good amount of wealth behind him as well. Mina turned away from Dorian and very loudly stated that he should learn humility before he drowned himself in his own flattery. Mina casually began walking towards the entrance to the stairwell. The woman stopped for a moment, noting the look of near heartbreak on the girl's face and frowning with a sigh.

"Well, they say that fortune rewards the bold," Sawyer said softly to Allan before approaching the entrance just in front of Mina. "If you require any assistance during the voyage, Misses Harker, just let me know."

Mina turned to face Abigail for a beat, gaging the girl's reaction. Abigail promptly folded both arms firmly and turned away. Mina lifted the side of her mouth into a slight grin as she turned back to the boy. "I'm curious as to just how you think you'll assist me, Agent Sawyer," she replied coolly.

"Heavy lifting," Sawyer said as he reached forward and took hold of the wheel that acted as a seal for the door and turned it, flexing all muscles possible in his shoulders and arms. "Light banter, an escort; I'm useful kind of guy," he replied with a playful smile. Mina smiled back and lowered her gaze.

"You're sweet, and you're young," she said kindly. "Neither are traits I hold in high regard, nor will I ever be inclined to again," she added casually and stepped into the entrance casually. Sawyer's smug grin fell to not only sheer disappointment, but near emasculation. Allan chuckled loudly as Dorian approached the youth, patting him comfortingly on the shoulder.

"Don't feel bad, old man. There are plenty of fish in the sea, you just haven't got a net," Dorian said as he walked past the boy and followed Mina down the stairs. Sawyer glared at him coldly as Allan moved to his side and turned towards the rest of the deck.

"Abigail?" he called loudly. Abigail appeared from the other side of the entranceway and straightened herself, hiding any previous expressions of disappointment as her father motioned for her to go down the stairs before him. She nodded and moved forward.

"Miss Abigail," Sawyer said kindly.

"Hmph,"Abigail said, ignoring him in a very obvious manner as she began descending the stairs. Allan laughed more loudly as he moved past the boy.

"And to think I was worried at all," he said jovially. Sawyer muttered angrily as Nemo called for the rest of the persons left on deck to hurry below as the ship went into a dive. The solar panels took little time to charge and the ship would take very little time in getting to Venice, the next port of call. Abigail went straight to her father's stateroom after retrieving the files from Mina's quarters. Allan recognized her knocking on the door without any further sign as to who was standing there. He called for her to enter and smiled warmly as she closed the door behind her. "You haven't had much time to look over those," he mused. "Is there something you've discovered already?"

Abigail drew in a deep breath. She wanted to tell him that she had discovered that her mind and heart were playing games with her and that Sawyer had been helping them do it, but she felt it a little out of place for the time being. She needed to focus on the task at hand. Her father had told both her and her brother repeatedly that focus was the key to accomplishing anything properly. She laid the files carefully on the end table once again and cleared her throat.

"I think we can eliminate Misses Harker; she seems to be no threat at all to the mission," Abigail said. Allan noted the words 'to the mission' bore a tone of slight resentment. He shrugged it away. Resentment was bound to occur between two females of no relation or closeness when forced into close quarters. Luckily, both Mina and Abigail seemed reasonable enough to overcome any bitterness or disdain that had no sound backing behind it. "Captain Nemo also seems earnestly dedicated to helping mankind without anything close to what this Fantom desires. He can be ruled out as well."

"So you've eliminated two people from suspicion, have you?" he said with admiration. Abigail had been given a gift at birth to know the hearts of men and beasts. Even away from Africa it seemed to be a useful talent.

"Actually all but two," Abigail said proudly. Allan raised a brow with interest. She set down another file, this one with the picture of Skinner on it. "Dr. Jekyll is far too meek to attempt anything so horrendous and Mr. Hyde wouldn't be interested in something so complicated. As for Mr. Skinner, I think he's simply a petty thief who was in the wrong place at the wrong time; he doesn't want to do any real harm to anyone, just take what he thinks he needs from them."

"But you said that you had eliminated all but two," Allan corrected. "Even though I highly disagree with your view on Skinner, you eliminated him, Misses Harker, Sawyer, myself, Nemo, and Jekyll. That leaves only Gray."

"Mr. Gray and one other," Abigail said looking to either side of them. She lowered her voice and leaned closer to her father. "Any of the men in the crew could be treacherous, father. Dr. Kruschev says that 'the wisest wolf knows that the greatest enemy is likely in his pack already'; that means that essentially only two people are in question, one potential traitor as well as Mr. Gray."

"I think Mr. Gray is too apathetic to be threat, Abigail," he replied scratching his head with confusion. He was sure that Abigail would have been able to distinguish a traitor from the pictures alone. Perhaps she needed more intimate knowledge to really decipher danger. Speaking to and listening to them might aid them. He thought for a moment. Simply being around them for the next few days should be enough. After all, if there was someone to be concerned about he would sense them by the time they reached Venice. He smiled and nodded to the girl. "Good advice, never the less. Excellent work."

"What should I do now?" she asked impatiently. He sighed and thought hard about what could keep her busy. He smiled brightly as a light went on in his mind. He may not have been distrustful of Dorian, but she certainly seemed to be. Perhaps if she busied herself talking with him then not only would her fears be put to rest, but she could find who was truly making her uncomfortable. He stood proudly and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"If your mind is telling you that Mr. Gray is a risk, then I suggest you take the next step; investigate him. Speak with him, perhaps ask him about the curiosity in the picture you found, and tell me what you discover after that," he said with a smile. Abigail frowned, sensing something odd about her father's request. He seemed too relaxed about it by comparison to anything else she had suggested or had been asked to do. She turned back to the doorway and took Dorian's file in her hand once again. "If anything else strikes you, Abigail, tell me; alright?"

She nodded and left the room quietly. She frowned, now feeling the burn of rejection again. She shook her head firmly as she walked back towards the room she shared with Mina. _It wasn't really a rejection, silly girl_, her conscience chided. _You never made your feelings known and there was never anything that told you he felt tenderly for you. Besides, he is an American and mother and father would be terribly upset if you brought him home to meet them. You'd do best to keep to your plan of attending Oxford and then heading out to be a physician in Africa, just as mother did. _Abigail repeated these words to herself resolutely as she tried to accomplish the next task her father had given her. For the remainder of the day, she did her best to try and speak with Mr. Gray alone, but was unable at every turn. Several times he had told the crewmen that he did not wish to be disturbed due to his need for private reflection, personal attendance, and beauty napping. Abigail felt herself growing more and more irritated with the man. Each and every excuse she ran across was nothing short of selfish preening. He even managed to weasel his way out of joining the others at lunch because of his need to rest after being for so long in the sun. Abigail had, at that point, asked one of the crewmen to convey her deepest concern for Mr. Gray who was obviously ill and more sensitive to the sun than even Misses Harker should have been. To her relief, there was no reply afterward.

For the rest of the afternoon following, she simply did her best to converse casually with as many different crewman as spoke English and tried to observe the rest. In this regard, she could fully rule out anyone working aboard the Nautilus. So far, even the gruff first mate, Ishmael, was on the up and up. Abigail couldn't recall having ever met a group of more loyal or capable men, but being so sheltered this was to be expected. Still, she had heard stories of the exploits of sailors and had been warned time and again by everyone above her that no sailor was ever to be trusted past getting to their port in due time. The warnings seemed pointless after meeting these admirable men. At dinner, Abigail continued her blatant silence towards Sawyer, keeping her head and voice completely away from him. Sawyer watched her with concern. She seemed angry at him, but he couldn't figure out why to save his own life. Women were strange creatures to begin with, and Abigail was only just making the transition. She would be extremely hard to read and even harder to speak with if she began to develop any more. Allan asked her about her findings at the end of the day. Abigail reported that, next to Queen Victoria herself, Dorian Gray had to be the most exclusive person in all of England and now the sea. She even spent a few moments ranting about her frustrations over being so turned away. Allan watched the girl, now relieved that her delicate interlude with infatuation had turned into perfect indignation. This would do for the rest of the journey, just as long as her anger did not escalate too far. She promised aloud that she would have a word with Dorian the next day whether it killed the two of them or otherwise. After that, Abigail had quickly left to return back to the room she shared with Misses Harker and try to elude the events of the day in sleep. She entered the room quietly and went quickly to the dressing screen after taking her gown from where she had left it beneath her pillows. She slipped into the gown, muttering softly to herself about the stupid men that were driving her mad. She collected the dress and undergarments that she had laid over the screen and moved towards her bed. A hand gently grasped her shoulder.

"You weren't yourself today, Abigail," Mina remarked with concern. Abigail snorted and walked past her to the bed. Mina frowned and walked towards the bed, watching carefully as the girl slipped under the covers. She seemed to be sulking silently about something trivial, and that could mean one of only a few things at her age. The woman calmly sat down on the edge of the bed, subconsciously consulting all maternal and sisterly instinct to deal with the situation. There would be no place for any distractions from the important task at hand, at least not in the form of silly anger or girlish indignation. "I said, you weren't yourself today, Abigail."

Abigail sat up and stared down at her knees, frowning and sighing heavily. "I don't think who I was made any difference. I can't get what I need or want accomplished," she complained. Mina lifted one brow, encouraging her to explain more fully. "I've conversed with nearly everyone and still need to speak more closely with Mr. Gray, my father's requested it for the good of the voyage."

"I see," Mina replied. "He's right in not trusting him outright. Dorian is a selfish man and selfish men serve a dangerous master." Abigail shook her head and looked away. "But that wasn't all, was it child?"

"_**I am not a child**_!" Abigail cried, nearly shrieking with indignation. Mina leaned backward a fraction, staring back at the girl in surprise. She turned her head away, feeling the urge to cry and fighting it vehemently. A grown woman would hardly be crying over something as silly as a few disappointments. She breathed sharply and drew her shoulders upward a moment. "I am just as capable as anyone else of most anything else. I just don't have anyone listening to me."

"Mr. Sawyer was willing to listen all evening. He seemed positively wounded that you didn't reply when he asked you about your childhood in Africa," Mina remarked. She noted the instant crimson that washed over the girl's face. "I see. Then it wasn't solely Mr. Gray that behaved out of character, Mr. Sawyer is also a cause for your anger."

"He is a perfect ass," Abigail said hotly. Mina sat upright, drawing in all authority possible at the moment.

"Miss Quatermain!" she said reproachfully. Abigail shrank a few inches, turning a deeper and far more humble shade of pink. Mina cleared her throat and leaned towards the girl. "Don't you remember? No one can perfect such a thing."

Abigail smiled slightly and then looked to the side once again. "I suppose I've been a little selfish, then. I should be focused like my father," she said. "He's almost always been focused."

Mina took note of the sadness that gripped onto the words 'almost' and 'always' from the girl. She nodded, realizing that something from her past had been terribly stained by a lack of focus or something similar. She reached forward and placed a hand comfortingly on the girl's shoulder.

"This must be most difficult of all for you, Abigail. Being called into a serious and quite weighty task just as your discovering the woman you'll become. I was only at finishing school at your age, not nearly in the same predicament. Still, imagine how incredible you'll be when this is all over. All the things you'll learn, the places you'll see, the things you'll do, and the stories you will have for the administration at Oxford," Mina said kindly. Abigail perked up and stared back at the woman in excitement. Someone was taking her dream seriously, someone other than Dr. Kruschev. "However, there is absolutely nothing wrong with also taking a few lessons about the opposite sex while your on your way as well. The more you know about them the better, since it will be hard enough to deal with them once your fully a woman."

"Didn't you hear him? That's quite a ways away for me. I'm still just a cute little girl," she said with hot sarcasm. Mina chuckled and took the girl's hands in her own, grasping them with firm affirmation of being understood by another female.

"That is the consensus of the majority of the crew, my dear, not Mr. Sawyer alone," she remarked. "So what you must do, is confirm, in small displays, that you are not a little girl."

"How do I do that?" Abigail asked in genuine curiosity. Mina leaned forward and spoke with conviction.

"By taking a few cues from someone who knows exactly that," she said softly. "Now, you'll need to be rested if you're going to continue pursuing a conversation with Mr. Gray and the appearance of a young woman. I will make sure that both are brought to you before the afternoon tomorrow. Goodnight, Abigail."

"Goodnight, Misses Harker," Abigail said, now smiling more brightly. She laid her head back against the pillow and welcomed sleep with the promise of waking as a new person with the same tasks.


	8. A Lesson in Marksmanship

**Chapter 8: A Lesson in Marksmanship**

Abigail remembered dreaming something terribly strange. First was the sight of a theatre, the dressing room to be exact. Abigail remembered that she was able, by some bizarre means, to see both within and without the dressing room at the same time. Within, a young actress was forced to swallow a purple/blue substance by a cruel man as the girl screamed his name, Basil. Without, Mr. Gray stood looking around as if frightened and confused before bursting into tears and crying for who must have been the girl, Sibyl. Abigail would have thought it a nightmare had the dream not been interrupted by the appearance of Sawyer. He softly took her hand and walked away from the dressing room, leaping over the balcony as the theatre dissolved beneath them into the glistening night sky. Abigail recalled clearly the feel of walking on nothing at all as she drifted through the dream itself. They seemed to simply walk casually together through the celestial display as though it were a city park. The dream faded as she felt her eyes open. The dream had been so wonderful and peaceful at the end, that Abigail felt almost angry at having awakened from it. She groaned and climbed out of bed, muttering to herself about how much she wanted the dream to return. Mina was nowhere in sight, but a similar dress, this time an almost gray jumper with a blue underdress, and the same undergarments had been left lying on the dressing screen. She frowned and stepped behind the screen, dressing as quickly as possible. It didn't help her need to be seen as mature that her current attire was rather juvenile. She looped the decorative black waistband around the gray cloth and tied it tightly, hoping that some sort of female figure would be noticeable past the clothes of a school girl. Abigail tried to go over the dream several times again as she placed the gown under her pillow and pulled the covers neatly over the surface of the bed. Both she and her mother had dreams that were other people's memories from time to time, people they felt strongly about or towards. She hadn't felt terribly close to Mr. Gray at all, but she had felt quite wary of him. _Rightfully so_, her mind told her. _His image in the photograph is still suspicious; you should ask him about that above anything else and pay close attention to his reaction_.

Abigail looked down the hallway in either direction. The halls seemed fairly quiet. Had she slept through something? She moved towards the nearest clock which was several rooms away. It had been said by numerous travelers to the east, that Indians and persons of China believed that the presence of clocks caused rapid aging. Nemo must have believed that to some extent, since it was nearly impossible to see a timepiece nearby on the ship. She looked at the clock and gasped. It was well into ten in the morning. Abigail was used to waking promptly at six, but four hours had flown past her usual time of rising. This was unbelievable! How on earth had she managed to sleep so late? Even without an alarm or a dormitory mistress to wake her, her eyes were opened no later than 6:15. She scratched her head and stood in confusion for a moment. The dream had lasted for hours in her mind; was it possible that it had lasted for hours in reality? As she stood thinking a few moments more, the sound of footsteps approaching jarred her out of her analysis. She turned and nodded as Mina walked towards her.

"Awake at last," she said kindly. "You were quite involved with something when I left this morning, but it didn't appear to be a nightmare. I trust that you slept well?"

"Too long," Abigail said worriedly. "I've lost four hours that I could have been using. Father's expecting me to have information for him by this evening."

"Really?" Mina asked looking behind her. "He doesn't seem to me like he's expecting much of anything. He is suspicious of several people on board, but he doesn't seem to be waiting for something."

Abigail looked away sadly. "I know," she said softly. "But he did give me something to accomplish, and the more I accomplish even in minuscule tasks, the more he'll think I'm capable."

Mina frowned, holding back the urge to say something that might incur the girl's righteous anger. Instead, she walked calmly past her, softly touching her shoulder affectionately as she said, "Doubtful."

Abigail watched her pass and looked in either direction once again. A loud noise from the deck above her caused her heart to skip a rather important beat and almost lost her precious footing. She leaned against the nearest wall and collected her senses. The sound was very much like a gunshot. Was someone attacking? Surely Mina would have sensed that and been at the scene of the danger long before anything was fired, vampires were like that after all. Suddenly, the sound ripped through the air again. Abigail smiled slightly. Definitely a gunshot, and this time it was recognizable. She had long been accustomed to the sound Matilda made as her father took aim and pulled the trigger at practice. She bounded towards the stairwell up to the deck and climbed hurriedly towards the exit. Sunlight burned into her eyes as she opened the door. She raised her arm and shielded herself as she tried to locate her father and what he was aiming at. Her father stood poised at the edge of the deck with Sawyer only a few feet beside him, talking casually as one of the crewmen fired buoys several yards out to sea. It took only a second for Allan to realize that he and the other two men were no longer the only ones updeck. He turned and smiled at the girl, motioning for her to join them.

"Have you spoken to anyone else yet?" he asked softly as she approached. Abigail looked towards Sawyer for a moment. The boy said nothing and looked uncomfortably at the floor. She frowned. If her father was speaking about this more openly, then perhaps it wasn't as pressing as she had initially thought. That, or he did believe what she felt about Sawyer and the crew was correct, that they were not traitors. She moved closer to him as he raised the sight of the rifle and locked onto his target. "I didn't see you this morning. Misses Harker said you were well, but sound asleep. Are you alright?"

"No, and yes, in that order. I just overslept is all," she said quietly as she gazed out at the doomed buoy. In an instant, the small red bauble became a thing of the past, exploding into a hundred pieces as the small bullet reached its goal. "I still need to have a word with Mr. Gray."

"I still think Mr. Skinner is more of an appropriate suspect," Allan replied. "But you're rarely wrong about people."

"I'm rarely wrong about anything," Abigail said, this time more loudly and forceful. Allan lowered the rifle and turned to her, watching expectantly for the remainder of her defense. "The blessing was for all living things, father, not people only. In fact, people are harder to read than animals."

"Animals have only instinct, that can turn into any action instantaneously. I would think that humans would be far easier to read than a creature with only thought for survival," he remarked skeptically.

Abigail turned, putting a hand to her chin and thinking for a moment. Her father was on to something. What if the reason Mr. Gray was so hard to read or even communicate with was that he was more focused on survival. Unlike animals, when most humans reached their twilight years, they desired nothing greater than more time. Perhaps, seeing as Mr. Gray was impervious to harm, he was terrified of time getting the better of him. Perhaps he was frightened of something far more sinister than death ending him. She paced for a moment, trying to compute that thought and trying to think of what a human whose goal was survival only would seem like. As she continued with her limited pacing, a voice broke her train of thought.

"Miss Abigail," Sawyer said loudly. Abigail felt her heart skip yet another necessary beat, this time with welcome surprise and not the thought of being attacked. She turned to face him, then remembered everything that had transpired the day before. Despite his undeniable grace and rugged beauty, she found it easy to turn away with her hands folded tightly behind her.

"Yes, Mr. Sawyer?" she replied casually.

"I just wanted to ask you if there's something I did, or said, or something that's made you angry with me?" he said uneasily. Abigail lifted her head nonchalantly, still turned away and breathing deeply. "It's just, you seemed a might sore with me last night, and I just couldn't live with myself if I'd done something to offend and not made it right."

Abigail noted that her father had moved off to the side and was chatting with the crewman at the buoy launcher. To her surprise, Matilda lay against the railing. Her father must have been a little out of sorts to have left his gun anywhere that wasn't a proper rack or closet. Stepping effortlessly towards it, she swept it up into both arms as gracefully as possible. Sawyer's eyes widened in amazement, not at the girl's movements in retrieving the weapon which, as it were, did not play out as she had hoped, but at her boldness in simply picking the thing up in the first place. As tender as her father might have been with her, he knew for a fact that the old man was very defensive of the 'old girl'.

"Uh, Miss Abigail . . . " he said, barely reaching one hand towards her.

"For your information Mr. Sawyer, I was very tired last night," she said as calmly as she could manage under the awkward weight of the rifle. She finally steadied herself, wondering why her father hadn't made it back over to them by now, but thankful for it. "My father has asked me to weed out any potential threats to the mission," she stated proudly. The door to the stairwell opened behind the two, but neither turned to see who had just arrived. Abigail was far too affixed on her display of physical and mental maturity and Sawyer was frightened that Abigail was going to drop the gun into the ocean.

"Uh, Miss Abigail, you really shouldn't . . . " he sputtered, this time reaching both hands a few inches towards her.

"Just because I wasn't spending every moment of the evening glancing in your direction or making small talk does not mean that I was angry," she added. "I have had a great deal to consider. I even have an important formula of Dr. Kruschev's to keep memorized in case of the worst." Sawyer groaned uncomfortably and glanced towards Quatermain who stood calmly with the crewman, looking over part of the machinery and adjusting something. He grimaced and reached his hands a little closer to the girl. "Furthermore, my behaviour should hardly be any of your concern to me directly. Any concerns you have about a lady's present state should be made known to her friends or family."

"I'll remember that, Miss Abigail, honest, but you shouldn't be . . ." he continued.

"Stop trying to dictate to me! I am sure that I have seen more weaponry in use in my childhood than all of _America_ has seen in its young existence," she snapped.

Sawyer frowned and opened his mouth to say something to that phrase alone. Abigail forgot about the delicate trigger as she tried to keep a good grip on the rifle. _**BOOM! **_The gun fired forcefully out into nothing, throwing both itself and its wielder back into whomever had entered through the stairwell. Abigail's head span madly and she was sure that every fibre of her being was now set ablaze and scattered in several directions at once. Her vision became shaded with crimson for a moment and her breath left her. She could feel the hot, emptiness of her chest as she scrambled to draw in anything. She finally found the presence to open her mouth and inhale deeply, filling each struggling alveoli with precious oxygen. She reached a hand up and clutched her chest as another hand grabbed hold of the gun. She noted that she had been knocked onto the floor when someone behind her took hold of her sleeve and hoisted her up, allowing her to lean on them for a moment.

"Well," Dorian Gray said with an audible grin. "It appears that father knows best. I rather think you would have shot right back to Kenya if the railing hadn't been there."

Abigail frowned in embarrassment, turning the bright crimson that her vision had been tinted with a moment before. Her arms and legs still trembled, and her shoulder hurt as though she had taken a direct hit. She breathed deeply and closed both eyes for a few seconds, hoping to will herself back to normal. Loud and angry footsteps filled her ears.

"What in God's name is wrong with you?!" Allan demanded. Abigail opened her eyes and looked up at her father in sheer humility. He growled softly and snatched the rifle out of Dorian's other hand. "Get below, and don't come back up for the rest of the afternoon."

"Father, I . . ." she began. He turned, lifting a brow in a silent, but stern, reprimand. She frowned and turned back towards the entrance. "Yes, sir."

Abigail stood perfectly still for a strained moment as Sawyer turned and then began walking towards her. She noted it before the boy had time to reach her, but not before he could call out to her one last time. Just as he had finished calling her name, she had made it into the stairwell and had slammed the door shut. Dorian turned to the youth and smiled.

"They're rather a curious species, women," he mused. Sawyer glared at him for a moment and then turned back to the railing beside Allan. Dorian chuckled and turned back to the door of the stairwell, opening it more fluidly than Sawyer had been able to do the day before. "I suppose the only way to truly know what they're thinking is to stop thinking at all."

As the door closed behind the immortal, Sawyer looked out over the horizon. Abigail had been angry at him for something and she was doing something important. It seemed, though, that she couldn't stress to her father that what she believed was important and that what she saw was dangerous. This must have been a difficulty for them in Africa. Come to think of it, he knew less about Quatermain than any of the other members of the league, which was next to nothing save what he had observed. He sighed heavily. Dorian was wrong about many things, but especially his last remark. The way to know what anyone was thinking, which was what Abigail was obviously being given to do, was to ask as many questions as possible. He straightened himself and vowed to do just that before they reached Venice.


	9. The Strange Case of Dorian Gray

**Chapter 9: The Strange Case of Dorian Gray**

Abigail stood for a few minutes in the hallway just below the stairwell. She breathed sharply, fighting the urge to cry with all her strength. She wiped a few traitors from her eyes with irritation and squeezed both hands together in front of her as she tried to ignore the pain radiating through her shoulder. The door behind her opened, allowing Dorian to exit casually. He stopped and stared down at her for a moment, both remaining uneasily silent as they tried to decipher the other's motives. Dorian finally cleared his throat.

"You look disquieted, Miss Quatermain," he remarked. She looked down, inhaling sharply once again. The ageless youth smirked and moved towards her slowly, fluidly. He reached a hand towards her arm almost as quickly and softly as Mina would have. Abigail wondered if their similarities were what drew them together and then inevitably forced them apart. "Marksmanship is not all about aim. It is also the strength to handle the force of the weapon itself."

"I am aware of that, Mr. Gray," Abigail shot back. She closed her eyes tightly and grabbed hold of her shoulder above where his hand met her arm. "Painfully aware," she whispered.

He sighed and wrapped his fingers commending around her arm, drawing her smoothly down the hallway.

"Come along; you'll need to see a physician after receiving a blow like that," he said. Abigail looked up at him, unable to hide her glare at his thinking she was incapable or injured. He smiled with amusement, seeming to have realized something wonderful in her angry gaze. "Besides, in less than peak condition you're of no use to the rest of the league."

"I am not a member," she replied.

"Indeed," Dorian replied calmly as they stopped in front of a large ornate door to one of the staterooms. "And yet you've made every effort possible to render assistance. That constitutes a small state of belonging to said delegation, does it not?"

Abigail's eyes widened in surprise. She was still suspicious and confused by the man, but he was obviously trying to be kind. He had said exactly what she needed to hear. Her eyes narrowed a fraction. Yes, _exactly_ what she had needed to hear. His realization must have been in how to communicate with her on a pleasant level. A level that, he believed, would absolve him from any suspicions that she or her father might have. _Nice try_, she thought. He looked her over more carefully as the sound of fumbling and footsteps came from within the room. He reached down, softly swiping a strand of hair away from her eyes and setting it gently in place within the torrent of ruby tresses. She breathed unevenly, suddenly feeling a curious shiver move through her at his touch. He turned back to the door quickly, either unaware or unconcerned with the sudden change in her expression towards him. She felt the shiver settle into a warmth at the back of her head. She frowned a little at feeling a stinging sensation accompany it. The door opened and both turned to face its occupant.

"May I help you?" Dr. Jekyll asked as he looked at the two in bewilderment. "Either of you?"

"I'm afraid Miss Quatermain had a mishap updeck and collided, at the back of her skull, with the deck itself," Dorian explained. Jekyll winced slightly at just the thought of such an injury. "She also sustained a somewhat minor contusion from the butt of a gun reverberating into her left shoulder. I thought you would be the person to see that she receives proper attention."

"Of course," the doctor replied quickly. "Take her to the infirmary and I'll be there in a moment."

"Thank you," Dorian added with a nod and turned swiftly towards the other end of the hall. Abigail watched him in stunned silence. She had been captivated by his voice before, but something about his subtle commands and tender precision seemed more fascinating now than before. He glanced down at her with a smile as they rounded several corners to the infirmary. "If I didn't know any better, Miss Quatermain, I'd say that you were awestruck."

"Then do not try to know better, Mr. Gray," she replied. He chuckled softly as he led her into one of the sectionals for the wounded, walking towards the cot that stood at its centre. "I am awestruck. No one seems to question you, even though you are probably the most dangerous person here."

"More dangerous than the vampiress?" he laughed.

"She only drinks blood when it suits the situation in her own defense," Abigail corrected almost angrily. "I imagine that you would drink it like wine if you thought it would bring you strength or some other sort of pleasure."

Dorian's nostrils flared with a resemblance of excitement. He edged towards her as she sat on the cot, leaning backwards as his breath became as close as her heartbeat. Her eyes glistened with timid expectation as if she were staring into the face of a hungry lion once again. He smiled coquettishly and carefully leaned her shoulders back against the pillow with both hands, as tenderly as if she were a sleeping lover. Her limbs began trembling once again. Strange, at this distance she could positively smell evil on him; on him, but not within him. He may not have been the very source of the villainy that she had been sensing, but he was certainly a party to it. With another fluid movement, he reached down and lifted both her ankles away from the floor, setting them easily onto the rest of the bed.

"I do know better than to think that you have any idea as to what _pleasure_ truly is, Miss Quatermain," he said almost suggestively. The sheen of his blue eyes and the glow of his ivory skin became more apparent to her as he stepped away from her side. "Anyone with keen senses could tell that."

He turned and swept out of the room as quickly as they had entered. She sat upward on her elbows, thinking better of it as her left arm collapsed uselessly underneath her weight. As she finally let out a cry of pain, supposing that she had a moment alone, Jekyll moved to her side and looked down at her with a frown of concern. She turned away, humiliated that someone had heard a tone of weakness in her. He drew in a deep breath and rolled up either of his sleeves.

"Can you see clearly, Abigail, or is your vision askew?" he asked calmly.

"I can see, but when I hit the floor everything turned red for a moment," she replied. She noted that his expression became all the more worried when she sat up fully. He placed a hand on her left shoulder, carefully, and looked behind her. "What is it?"

"I do believe you were cut on something," he remarked. "Not to worry, it appears quite superficial by the look of the blood that's come off of it. Be still a moment."

Confused, she turned her head to the side to see what he was referring to. Sure enough, a small stain of bright crimson had been left where her head had touched the pillow. It was small and obviously not saturated, but enough to tell anyone looking, that a cut had accompanied any other minor injury. A larger wave of nausea washed over her than before, sending her forward less than an inch. The doctor's firm hand kept her from falling any further, but Abigail couldn't have been entirely sure of it since her vision went blank immediately following her glance. The cool embrace of unconsciousness might have been unwelcome in any other circumstance, but for the time being it was refreshing. This was the first time in days she had rested without the interruption of dreams or thoughts. Nothing was present here that she did not force into focus. She even felt her soul sighing with satisfaction. The sound of Dr. Jekyll moving about the sectional and tending to the rest of her wound still made its way to her ears, but she found herself blissfully blasé' about taking it in. He called her name several times, trying to rouse her into consciousness again. This was nothing short of rudeness. She was more comfortable in this state and should be allowed to remain there until she was truly needed. As his voice grew louder, the air around her grew warmer and the scent of strong alcohol met her halcyon spirit. She coughed and struggled to move away from the scent, finding the presence of mind to begin the process of sitting up once more.

"Abigail?" he said loudly as her eye opened, spinning like wheels on an cart. She groaned and met his gaze just as he breathed a sigh of relief as well. "Good. If you have a concussion, you need to stay awake. Do you know where you are?"

"The infirmary," she muttered in irritation.

"Very good, and do you know how you got here?"

She groaned louder. "I hopped on one leg," she replied sarcastically.

He smiled and shook his head. "Well there certainly hasn't been any damage done, that would have been detectable in your wit right off," he mused. She breathed deeply and turned her head away from him. "Alright then, let's have a look at your shoulder."

Abigail felt too tired and dizzy to fight him as he removed the upper portion of her clothing. He did not remark about the shock he felt in seeing how under-dressed she was, but continued to pull her body from the chest up free of both sleeves and the majority of the remaining cloth, leaving enough of the slip at her chest to keep her modesty intact. She felt him gently raise the left arm and then softly try to bend it at the shoulder. A massive bolt of lightning shot through her from the back of her shoulder blade forward. She cried out instinctively and pulled the limp appendage free of his grasp.

"Oh dear," he said. "I should have left you unconscious a few minutes more," he muttered.

"Why, what is it?" she gasped as she tried to breathe away the searing pain.

"It seems the force of the gun moved the arm right out of its proper place," he explained. Abigail closed her eyes tightly as another nauseous wave hit her fully. "It won't take much to put it back, but there's no way to do it without it hurting any worse."

"It hurts badly enough now, I don't see how it could get worse," she whimpered. He frowned and took hold of her arm, gripping her shoulder and back with the other hand.

"There's no use arguing with that," he said. "Try not to scream."

"Why would I. . ." Abigail began. As he forced her arm in one direction and held her back in place, Abigail felt every sense and ability leave her. She lay motionless a moment after a loud popping sound filled the room. _That's strange_, she thought. _He seemed to have been of the opinion that it would be painful_. Her mind suddenly began to race. He had forced her arm back into her shoulder, yes, but something else must have happened. She now found herself unable to move. She breathed heavily and tried to remain calm. "I-I-I can't move," she stammered. "Am I paralyzed?"

"Hardly," he said. "You're able to speak, which rules out that sort of damage. You are in shock, but that will wear off momentarily. Before it does," he explained as he reached behind him and looked quickly for something else. ". . . I'll make sure that everything is as it should be."

"You're very good at that, then; only one try. I've heard stories of it taking three or four goes to get a grown man's arm back into place," she remarked casually. She could feel a sharp sting in her shoulder as he moved her onto her back once again.

"Well, a grown man tends to be less cooperative," he added. "And you're very patient for anyone in that sort of distress."

"I wasn't distressed," she said dismissively. She suddenly realized that he had already placed bandaging around her head. "Is it a large cut?"

"Less than a needle's width or length," he replied and carefully lifted her off of the cot with one hand. He immediately cradled her under her other arm with the other hand. "Still, it wouldn't do to get infected. You'd be out of commission and terribly miserable." He reached behind them for a second, drawing the thin sheet on the surface of the bed up in one hand and placing it protectively over her shoulders and around her mostly bare chest. "You'll do better to rest in your room until this has worn off."

"I can walk by myself," she said firmly.

"I do not doubt that; you've more in you than I would have imagined even after seeing you. . . well, seeing you tame a beast. Still, you do have a head injury and should not walk by yourself or be alone for any length of time until it is clear that there has been no damage to you whatsoever," he retorted as they moved slowly towards the door. "I believe Misses Harker is in the room at the moment. If not, I will stay with you until you are well enough."

Abigail breathed deeply and felt settled enough for the moment to try and ask a question or two. She looked up towards Jekyll's face trying to read whether or not he was earnestly being as cautious as he would with anyone, or if he had allowed the same view of her to cloud his thinking that had for most everyone else around her. She smiled. For the time being, he believed that she was not a weakling or child, therefore, he would be one of the few people safe to confer with.

"Was Mr. Gray an actor by trade?" she asked as they neared her room. Jekyll thought for a moment, his eyes wandering as he tried to recall everything he knew of the man, which wasn't much to begin with.

"I don't believe so. Mr. Gray is rather a mystery to most everyone on board," he replied as he knocked on the door. "Everyone except Misses Harker, of course. He is an old friend of her family's."

The door opened smoothly in an instant. Mina stared out at the two in surprise, bespectacled by a pair of reading glasses.

"Well, something finally got the better of you," she said allowing the door to open wider. "Thank you, doctor. I can take it from here."

"Make sure she does not move around much for another hour or so," he instructed. "I don't think she's in any real danger, but one can never be too careful."

The woman nodded, gesturing for Abigail to enter and move past her. Abigail wandered slowly towards her own bed and sat down on the edge, staring pensively into nothing. Mina moved to her side, watching her expression with concern.

"I wonder just what it will take to make you cautious or afraid of something," the vampiress said emotionlessly as she pulled the sheet from around the girl's shoulders. "What happened to you?"

"I tried to practice with father's rifle," Abigail explained flatly. She breathed deeply, feeling a slight wave of dizziness surrounding her. "I haven't really used one before. I suppose I was unprepared."

"I see," Mina said with a smile. "Not to worry, guns are hardly an honest way to fight. I took fencing at finishing school."

"So did I," Abigail said lying backwards and thinking about how she should ask Mina about her concerns regarding Dorian and how she should approach the man himself. "Misses Harker, was Mr. Gray an actor by trade?"

Mina sighed and looked away as if irritated by a very old complaint. "No, and I pray that it never comes to that. His melodrama when quoting poetry alone is nauseating. He has been hardly anything but a spoiled little boy for the majority of his life." Mina's expression and tone told Abigail that she had not only just visited with the man, but he had been less than charming. "Anything Mr. Gray pretends to know about the theatre and its goings on was acquired in the few days in which he was engaged to an actress."

Abigail's eyes widened. "Sibyl," she whispered in realization.

"Yes," Mina continued. "And when she was out of his life he swore himself away from any of the performing arts. It was seen as quite uncultured and scandalous, but a few of the people he once flaunted himself in front of saw it as a noble memorial to the girl."

"Was he there when she died?" Abigail asked as she remembered all of the images of the dream more clearly.

"No one was there when she died, at least I don't recall anything being said about someone being present. That would have been most disturbing and certainly something to report on," Mina replied. "It was suicide."

"Suicide?"

"Yes. Dorian blames himself, of course. It is only natural and it fits perfectly in his need for melodrama," Mina said as she stood and walked towards her desk. "I suppose he spoke to you of it in order to derive some sort of pity and assuage natural fear of him."

"He hasn't spoken to me about it at all. _Suicide?_ But then, who was Basil?" Abigail wondered aloud. Mina turned to her slowly, a nearly frightened look of curiosity now emblazoned on her face. "I distinctly saw him forcing her to drink something like wine."

"Wine was not what killed her," Mina said. The tone wasn't to correct, it was more meant to pry. What had Abigail seen? She was far too young to have seen the girl's death and any family would have been on the other side of the equator.

"It was fluid of some kind," Abigail continued. She stared into space as Mina placed her reading glasses carefully on the desk. "A bluish fluid. It was nearly purple and looked very dark."

"Prussic acid; that's what it was said to be, a sort of cyanide," Mina said inching slowly towards Abigail who now seemed to be in a trance. "Was that what you saw? A blue substance in a dark flask of some kind?"

"No," Abigail said furrowing her brow. "No, it was in a wine goblet when he forced her to drink it. I suppose it could have been mixed with wine."

"Who forced her to drink it?" Mina said more urgently. "Was it Dorian?"

"No, no! Mr. Gray was weeping and carrying on as if he were being punished by it," Abigail said reaching one hand to her mouth, looking more pensive than ever. "The man that killed her, she screamed his name. It was Basil, yes, Basil was his first name but she said nothing else. I couldn't tell whether or not he had a surname and I didn't see his face."

"When did you see this?" Mina said trying to look deeply into the girl's eyes. Her pupils were wider than usual even in brighter light. "Where was she killed?"

"A dressing room," Abigail replied softly. "The theatre was empty otherwise. It must have been after nightfall, at least in the dream it was."

"A dream?" Mina said in shock. "You dreamt all this?"

"Last night," Abigail said. Her eyes lit up with realization. "I need to ask him about all of this! I have several questions for him. He is so terribly strange though. He brings an aura of the macabre with him everywhere, doesn't he?"

"Quite," Mina said softly. She had heard the story from others after she had been introduced to Dorian. The details that Abigail had envisioned were possible, if one didn't consider how cruelly Dorian had treated the girl and how distraught the girl was over him renouncing their engagement. She frowned. Was it possible that someone had killed the girl and simply made off free as a bird? "Doctor Jekyll wants you to stay here for at least an hour, just to be sure nothing bad will come of what happened to you."

"I can wait," Abigail breathed. She turned and moved to reach under the bed. Mina held her still and looked down at the floor. Lying beneath her bed was the picture of Dorian Gray attached to a set of papers telling all about his life and actions. She scooped it all up in one hand and placed it in Abigail's palm, doing her utmost to keep the girl from moving too around more than necessary. Abigail softly stroked the picture and stared at it mindlessly. "This is something that has bothered me from the get-go. Father didn't see it, but I know it's something that Mr. Gray will be able to explain fully."

"What is it?" Mina asked trying to look at the photograph as well. Abigail handed it to her and tapped the edge of the film.

"Do you see the border? It's a picture within a picture, a photograph of a portrait and not a direct likeness of Mr. Gray," she explained. "I wonder if he's afraid to allow someone to take his picture."

"Doubtful," Mina replied as she stared more closely at the photograph. "Dorian is too vain to outlaw something as self-aggrandizing as immortalizing his own image." The vampiress suddenly noticed that within the border of the photograph was, indeed, a woven border. Her eyes widened as she stared at it. Why would anyone photograph a portrait? She looked back at Abigail, whose eyes were barely open at the moment.

"I feel very tired," she said.

"You've had quite a morning," Mina replied. "I'll wake you in an hour. We need to discuss this and anything else you might have to add."

Abigail sighed and nodded before drifting off. Mina glanced at her once more. She had always been wary of Dorian, but ignored it for his beauty and pity for someone who had endured as much in his youth as he had. Now he seemed stranger than ever and, with Abigail, there might be a way to uncover and piece together everything that was needed to understand Dorian Gray. He might have been the portrait of perfection when it came to exquisite beauty, but, like the lengthy and verbose volumes of French poetry he often carried, he was quite difficult to read. Abigail breathed easily as she found a way to recreate the images from the dream. Reminding herself that this was the past and there was nothing she could do to change it, she sat in a nearby chair and tried to take in all the details around her. Perhaps whatever evil had killed Sibyl was still tormenting Dorian. Perhaps now it was hunting the league.


	10. A Lesson in the Purpose of Women

**Chapter 10: A Lesson in The Purpose of Women**

Mina was set to work quickly when the captain gave her a sample of powder found on the deck to identify. She had tried to study it from sight and smell to determine exactly what it was, but it seemed harder to sense much of anything on this vessel. She wondered whether it was the fact that the entire ship was beneath water, or if it were simply that she was distracted by several men of a less than honourable nature. Even Quatermain seemed very harsh towards the fairer sex than she would have expected from an Englishman used to the wild. She sat down at her desk, glancing at the clock. The powder had been given to her less than five minutes before Abigail had arrived back at the room and then nodded off. Dorian had visited her stateroom during the moments before the girl's arrival. He seemed to have wanted to have visited with her in the evening rather than the afternoon, judging by his desire for the use of a bed. Mina had been handling a small glass slide, attempting to simply keep at her work and ignore him, when he had tenderly gripped her hand. The hunger that had lurched through her veins at being so close to him caused her to close her fingers around the glass with inhuman strength, shattering the slide and leaving small cuts on her fingertips. Dorian had promptly taken a cloth from his jacket and wiped the blood away, trying to take her attention away from the pertinent task with a passionate kiss. She allowed it, involuntarily, for a second. After that, her mind took her back to a sensible state and reminded her fully of the reason she had left his country home and vowed never to allow another man into her life again. She had growled madly at him, nearly baring her fangs. In snarling, she made it quite obvious that it would be necessary for him to leave if he wished to do so intact. Dorian, loving his own safety beyond the thought that he might persuade her to be kinder after slashing him a few times, had agreed and left quietly. Now Mina sat silently, cursing herself softly for having allowed his presence to, once again, overcome her intellect. She sighed and leaned backwards, glancing at the silent form of Abigail as she lay sleeping. Jekyll must have given her laudanum or something like it for the pain of adjusting whatever wounds she had incurred updeck. It meant a good few moments of peace for her to work on this project, but the whole incident might have roused the delicate wrath of the girl's father.

The door to the room opened less than quietly once again. Mina turned and smirked.

"Speak of the devil," she muttered as she turned back to the desk. Allan walked past her, shaking his head at the sight of her sitting in front of the elaborate chemistry set up. She frowned and turned back to her work, scraping a few tiny piles of the powder onto two slides and into three vials. "She's asleep, Mister Quatermain. I believe she was given something to make sure that she remains that way as the muscles quiet down."

"That would have been unnecessary had she been where she was supposed to," he said angrily taking a seat beside the bed to look over the motionless figure lying before him. "I asked you to watch after her."

"I remember," Mina said smiling. "And I suppose you do not remember my reply. I will be nothing short of a good example and as much of a friend and guide as she permits; I am not her mother."

"I thank god for that," Allan muttered. He had hoped to do so under his breath, but Mina was accustomed to sounds under the breath and within it. Her expression fell and her gaze moved to glaring through the corners of her glasses towards the old man.

"Because you love Sarah so much?" she said with feigned admiration. "Or because you are at a loss as to what the purpose of women truly is and you would find it impossible to learn from one directly?"

"I doubt you could teach anyone their purpose, Misses Harker," he said glancing towards her just as angrily. Mina turned and studied his gaze for a beat. Her mouth curled into a smile that was half comprised of pity. Quatermain was angry with her to some extent. Sawyer and Jekyll both must have put very good arguments against him being angry at either of them. He was, in fact, furious with himself for all of this. He felt that he shouldn't have allowed any harm to come near Abigail in the first place by permitting her passage on the voyage, but he also felt certain that he was doing a better job of protecting her here and that no one else, especially Abigail, was cooperating. "Women have only a few to choose from."

"Is this something that you and Sarah discussed?" Mina said beginning to hiss with irritation. "Is her purpose clear to the both of you?"

"She nurtures, heals, cares for," he retorted. He frowned and looked down at his child with longing for Sarah and everyone else that he had lost because of his own stupidity or carelessness. "That was always her purpose."

"And the other options must be housekeeping, maternal maintenance, whipping boy, or cook," Mina snorted. "I wonder which one of those roles Abigail will fill."

"Abigail will not be just any woman," Allan replied defensively. He felt his body begin to quiver with anger and sadness. He had been without any reminders of his wife and daughter being brought to his constant attention for nearly seven years. All that had been with him after he had left their home and gone to stay with friends at the centre of Nairobi, had been the worn photograph that he carried with him now. It was painful to be faced with one's mistakes, but all the more painful to be faced with one's irreparable mistakes in the form of a partially grown woman and stories of her mother's torment. He frowned. "Her mother was hardly the average proper lady; she was more than that. Abigail would be lucky to have everything that she has."

"I see," Mina said turning to face the partial form of the man fully with one arm leaned casually over the side of the chair. "Then Abigail will need spirited and rather rebellious daughter to make her complete; after, of course, marrying a man without the strength and fidelity to comfort her or keep her near him when tragedy strikes."

"Shut up, woman!" Allan shouted angrily without thinking. He had risen to standing in an instant and now came back to himself, realizing what he had done both years ago and this very moment. Neither could be undone, but at least the later seemed like it would be the lesser of two evils. He breathed deeply and turned away in frustration and sheer embarassment as Mina rose as well.

"You shouldn't have said that, Mr. Quatermain," she said in a calm and wounded tone that told him she was far from done with the matter and quite unwilling to simply forgive. "You really shouldn't have."

"I apologize, Misses Harker, I was out of line," he said with true remorse.

"I'm surprised you can see that all the way in the back of your neolithic cave," she said coldly. Allan lifted his eyes to hers, hoping that words would be the only sharp things coming towards him in the next few moments. "I will say this once to you, Allan Quatermain, and only once. Your attitude towards women is staggeringly primeval and should be done away with lest you find yourself caged by a resentful wife rather than shot as you deserve at the moment. Your daughter has a great potential for trouble on this mission and a greater potential to help. What she needs is guidance and what you need is a muzzle. I will do my utmost from this moment on to make absolutely sure that your anger is at its least and that your daughter is at her peak. She may not have be able to hear you now and have had to metaphorically swallow that filth that just came from your mouth, but she will see any hostility you have towards her kind and has seen any disdain for either her or her mother in the past. Remedy it, or face what comes of it."

He breathed deeply, inhaling what he could of her words and glancing back at Abigail momentarily. Perhaps it was not simply disregard for women he was exhibiting. Perhaps his own lessons in cheek and disrespect had been exactly what had cost him dear Harry. He lowered his head and moved forward, stopping a few inches in front of Mina. The woman was angry, no doubt about that, but something about the glow of her eyes told him that hell had no fury and earth knew no sorrow like a woman scorned. This was far too awkward to try and rectify any further.

"I apologize, Misses Harker, I was out of line," he repeated before reaching the door. "The captain will be awaiting the results of what you find. No one else could possibly decipher what the substance is. The rest of us will be amazed, I am sure."

"Then I will try to work _quickly_, Mr. Quatermain," Mina said firmly. Her harsh gaze told him that he was past time to have left the room. "Abigail will probably not be at the table this evening. She needs to rest and recover from any physical ailments before the journey reaches Venice tomorrow evening."

He nodded and left the room hurriedly. Mina growled, breathing sharply as he left the room. He was beginning to wear as quickly on her nerves as the presence of Dorian had, though with far less enjoyable emotions attached to it. She turned back to the desk and tried to breathe more calmly as she applied the powder in the vials to three separate mixtures. Each gave the same end result that she desired. She smiled brightly and suddenly heard heavy footsteps coming towards her. Abigail grasped the chair and stared beyond Mina in confusion.

"What are you doing awake, Abigail?" she asked in concern. Abigail narrowed her eyes and rubbed her head.

"Was my father just here?" she asked groggily. Mina's shoulder's tightened as she turned and took the girl by the hands.

"Yes," she said in a low tone. "Why? Did something upset you? Did you have a vision of some sort?"

"I'm not entirely sure," Abigail muttered as Mina led her back to her bed and sat down beside her. Abigail turned and fixed her spinning eyes on those of the vampiress. "Was, was he baying at the moon?"

Mina laughed softly at the girl's honest inquiry then stared back at the girl calmly. "In a manner," Mina replied.

"I smelled something, like metal burning," she added. Mina's eyes widened and a pleased smile crossed her lips. "I could have sworn that he was just standing here, howling."

"Not important," Mina said dismissively. "What is important is that your senses are a little heightened. What you smelled was my trying to ascertain the identity of a powder that Nemo found on the bridge. Tell me, do you know what magnesium phosphorus is used for?"

Abigail rubbed her head and leaned backwards, curling her legs to her chest as she sighed softly. "Isn't that used in pictures, I mean, photography? Dr. Kruschev says that it's a necessity for photography. I thought it makes a bright light," she said. Mina inhaled with sheer joy. "He said that he could never get the pictures he wanted using the flash; it scared away the girls in the bath houses."

Mina looked down at the girl in a combination of disgust, horror, and worry. Then again the wickedry of the common man was becoming all too clear to her. Men needed to be taught how to treat women and how to handle treatment from women. Of course this would need to be done quietly, of course; men scare very easily. An epiffinay lit up in her eyes. She would need to find the source of the powder and fast if they were to discover who was trying to undo their mission. She leaned closer to Abigail.

"I know you're quite tired from all the research you've done for your father, but do you think that you might be able to help me in a little query?" Mina asked kindly. Abigail's eyes opened with excitement. "You're small enough and quiet enough, and I know for a fact that you are accustomed to not leaving any tracks. I need you to search the staterooms and find out which of the other four men might have a camera, or plainly do have a camera."

Abigail sat upright on her elbows and furrowed her brow. "Won't it disturb them for me to search their rooms?"

"They won't notice you've been there," Mina said proudly. She held a key aloft with a twinkle in either crystal eye. "This is a skeleton key. I acquired it from the first mate when he brought me the powder, on the off chance that I might need to confer with someone after my findings. He seems to think that things are best done in a nonconventional manner. Only a few doors should be locked, but the ones that are will have more suspicious materials I'm sure."

"And all I need to look for is a camera?" Abigail repeated aloud.

"Absolutely," Mina answered. "Are you up for it?"

"I think so," Abigail said breathing out slowly. Mina smiled kindly and placed a hand tenderly on her shoulder.

"Rest a little longer. When the rest of them are at dinner, it will be up to you to gather the necessary facts," she said. "I think this is something fit for a girl with an eye for adventure and rule-breaking."

"I'm all for the one," Abigail replied breathlessly as she closed her eyes once again. "But I am getting a good hold on the other."


	11. Candid Revelations

**Chapter 11: Candid Revelations**

Abigail breathed deeply and looked at the key in her good hand once again as Mina stood in the doorway. She glanced at her still bandaged hand and frowned. As capable as she knew she was, she had done a grand job of landing herself in small scrapes on this voyage already. She shook her head and looked back up at the vampiress with resolve.

"Which rooms are theirs? I haven't really been anywhere but this room and father's," Abigail suddenly realized aloud. Mina smiled and walked towards her, laying a hand calmly on the girl's shoulders. "How will I know which rooms to search?"

"The staterooms have knockers on the doors," Mina replied. "The other doors, larger doors, lead to supply rooms, the engine, the crewmen's quarters, and so on and so forth."

"Right then," Abigail said with a smile. "You'll have to distract them as much as possible."

"I can guarantee an hour and a half," Mina replied as she glanced back towards the door. "After that, head back to the room and wait for me. If someone leaves early. . .well, do the best you can to get out of the situation."

"How?" Abigail said in confusion.

"Use your feminine wiles," Mina instructed and walked away slowly. "Use your limitations against the enemy. You should begin in about five minutes; that should give you enough time for everyone to be in the dining room."

Abigail nodded and exhaled sharply. This was something that her father, or any number of the other people on board, would certainly be disappointed with. Still, if she was going to get to the bottom of her apprehension towards Dorian Gray or the lack of apprehension towards anyone else, than nothing would do better than to be in the room where they felt most at rest. Her mother, as well as the village medicine men and women, had told her that the place where a person slept held significant energy, energy that could be read most accurately for deciphering their personality and intentions. She watched the clock on the wall of the stateroom for a few moments and then began to pace impatiently. Minutes ticked by more slowly here than during a grammar examination in a classroom. She groaned and walked to the door, peeking out into the hallway. Relief washed over her at realizing that hallway was empty and very quiet. She slipped out of the doorway and several feet down the hall, to the first door with a large brass knocker. She reached down and placed the skeleton key in the hole, twisting it once. _**CLICK!**_ The door opened as easily as it would have for its occupant. A shiver of excitement ran through her at realizing she was doing something terribly improper and very imprudent. How amazing that it was going so smoothly so far. She steadied herself from any further excitements and entered the room cautiously, closing the door softly behind her. She glanced around the room and smiled. Judging by the jacket hanging on the nearby coatrack and the proper set of stationary on the desk, this room belonged to Dr. Jekyll.

Mina sat down easily at the table, hiding well her excitement and amusement for Abigail's task. She looked carefully from face to face, noting that all the members of the league were present. All, that was, except for Mr. Skinner. She let out a soft growl and turned to Nemo.

"Where is Mr. Skinner?" she asked casually.

"No one has seen him all day," the Indian replied with a similar tone of concern.

"No one ever sees him," Allan remarked. All eyes turned to him with less amusement at the jest than he had hoped for. He cleared his throat and continued. "But it is odd that the old boy has disappeared from sight and sound entirely."

"Oh, I expect he's not quite accustomed to civilized meals," Dorian added as he took his glass in one hand. "I imagine that he's off by himself and that is precisely the only company he is used to keeping and willing to protect."

"Let's not be accusatory, Mr. Gray," Nemo corrected. Dorian snorted indignantly and turned his attention to his plate with near disgust for the unusual cuisine. Nemo ignored this and looked towards Mina. "Misses Harker, did you discover the identity of the powder from the bridge?"

"I did," Mina said with a smile. She looked carefully from face to face, trying to see any unsettled expressions that might have arisen at the mention of the powder. "It was magnesium phosphorus, a substance used in cameras to create a flash. It allows a photographer to capture an image properly. Without light there would be no image," she explained.

"I've never been much for photography," Dorian said dismissively. Mina turned to him with interest. He had been the first to speak after the explanation and he was already under suspicion. "Photographs are so unnatural. There are some cultures that believe taking a picture of someone steals their soul."

"That's an old Injun superstition," Sawyer said. He was oblivious to the strange looks that everyone gave to him after the expectant looks they had given to Nemo with no further explanations. He looked up, suddenly feeling uncomfortably watched. He cleared his throat. "I mean, it's an old superstition from the natives where I was raised."

"Superstitions are a fascinating subject," Dorian continued as he took a long drink and neatly set the glass back on the table. "They seem to control a people almost as much as the governing body itself."

"More than that," Jekyll said. "Some of those superstitions condition the psychological responses of their people. They are literally physically different because of their fears and beliefs."

"And you know a great deal about psychology?" Allan asked with a smile.

"Medically speaking," Jekyll explained. "I believe that certain fears drive a person to action more fervently than many other emotions."

"Truly?" Nemo asked with genuine interest.

"Absolutely," the doctor replied proudly. "Why fear would drive an innocent person to commit a crime they never thought they would ever be tempted to do."

Abigail looked quickly through the drawers on the desk finding only what she had found in her father's room; paper, pens, ink, and small pamphlets of information. The difference being that there was no photograph of a family and that the pamphlets were small issues of medical information. She frowned and walked around the room trying to catch sight of anything like a camera or the scent of burning phosphorus that she had smelled before. She searched under the bed, all around the wash basin, in the bathroom itself, and then in the closet. She frowned at only seeing a collection of proper clothes and the bag that every physician typically carried. She reached for it quickly and opened it, sighing heavily with disappointment as she saw only gauze, alcohol, medicines, salves, and tools. Her mind buzzed with ideas and she felt relief move over her once again at thinking she had been right about the man. Even with Hyde lurking in the man's psyche at every waking moment, the doctor was a genuine man of good intentions. There was no danger here any further than the box lying on the end table nearby. Her eyes alighted with excitement as she went straight to the box and opened it. Inside were several vials of fluid. She narrowed her expression, trying to think of what sort of medicine this could be. She gasped. This was the elixir that gave Henry Jekyll the means to gain the strength and charms of Edward Hyde. There were several vials of formula, all of them looking quite regular to anything a normal person would use to carry a small amount of tonic or rose water. She sighed and closed it tightly before leaving the room. Jekyll was not the person that had photographed the bridge. She looked across the hallway and followed the wood floor down several yards. There was another room with a large brass knocker on its door. This one had been left open slightly. She looked one way and then the other before darting into the room. This room was a little harder to read at first. There was barely anything to give away its owner lying around. She turned to the coatrack and noticed a black coat and hat with a rifle laying beside it. She smiled. This room belonged to Sawyer.

"But fear is hardly the chief emotion behind such action, if you ask me," Mina said as she tried to extend the conversation as far as she could while everyone was still present. "Righteous anger, in the form of rage, drives more men to their sins or salvation than anything I've seen."

"Proper men do not allow rage to ever take hold of them," Dorian corrected. "One learns, in polite society, to harness their passions and steer them effortlessly."

"Anger gets the better of everyone at some time or another," Sawyer interjected. "It's what keeps most of us from giving up so easy, kinda gives a man focus better than a pair of glasses."

"Anger, in that sense, is almost animalistic," Nemo remarked gazing at Sawyer with greater interest. Surely just the country wanting to stave off war was not the only and true reason that the young American was among the League at the moment. "It isn't something that could easily be focused."

"You'd be surprised at just how focused an animal can be, even a wild one," Allan added firmly. "I've seen lions bolt across impossible lengths at a steady speed to kill one specific person that's done them or their territory harm."

"Funny how animals act like we do from time to time," Sawyer said with a laugh.

"I find that hard to believe," Dorian said with a sneer. "Vengeance is for actors and barbarians. Civilized men and women are too wearied from one another to feel such hatred."

"Sounds to me like you've never been wronged," Sawyer said with a heated tone.

Abigail found nothing under the bed, a slightly used bar of soap left at the washbasin, and only an extra pair of pants, clean shirts, and a second pair of suspenders in the closet. She smiled. There was nothing at all to be worried about with Sawyer. She sighed for a moment, pleased with how well her senses had picked up his innocent nature. _Well_, she thought, _as innocent as a young man can be_. She walked over to the desk. On top of it was a journal of considerable age. She opened the cover and noted the date; 1893, the year her brother had died. She flipped through the pages to the most recent entry and, though she knew she shouldn't have, scanned over the words.

**". . . **_**so hard it made my head hurt. Poor thing was lucky she didn't break her neck on it. I need to keep a better eye on her, is all. That should be easy enough with everything else. I know exactly what to expect from this Fantom. Besides, she is a pretty little thing, prettier than Becky was last I saw. Still, you never forget the first time you and a girl**_**. . . ."**

"Bit of light reading?" a familiar voice suddenly said. Abigail jumped and let out a tiny shriek. "Hold on now, I'm not here to turn on you or anything like that," Skinner said defensively. "Didn't mean to frighten you, or that mouse you're hiding in your vocals."

"Mr. Skinner?" Abigail said in shock. Her eyes searched the space around her intently. She froze and frowned. "Are you . . . are you _nude_?"

"Yeah, 'sright," Skinner replied with an audible grin. Abigail opened her mouth wide and began to scream. Before more than a few seconds of sound could escape, Skinner reached out and firmly covered her mouth with one hand. "Easy now, Abigail! If you make any noise like that, your father'll be down here in a flash and fire me out one of the starboard cannons."

Abigail firmly pushed Skinner's hand off of her mouth. "There aren't any cannons; this is not a pirate ship!" she hissed. "You're right, though. We must remain unseen." She glanced towards his direction once more before turning away in embarrassment. "And unheard as well. What are you doing here at any rate? Why aren't you at dinner?"

"Well I happened to catch the tail end of a little discussion your father was having with Sawyer and Nemo. Came to the conclusion that lovely Venice is going to meet fireworks from the base up; big ones. Then the good doctor wanders in and starts claiming that I was in his room slinking around his unholy case of swill," Skinner snorted. "Since I can tell when I'm not wanted, I thought I might have a look around rooms for a few odds and ends to borrow a while. Imagine, the nerve of that malodorous git accusing me of sneaking around his room all sinister like!"

"And you weren't?" Abigail asked.

"Course I was, but not for anything sinister," he said defensively. "I thought I might help meself to some of his cache of superfluous vodka."

"Stop right there," Abigail ordered thrusting both hands in front of herself commending. "I don't think that you are a threat, but I don't want to hear anymore of your awful confessions!"

"Alright, darling," Skinner said moving silently behind her. "Then why don't you give a little confession, eh? Why are you searching Sawyer's room? Think you might find a little bit of something to learn by which to attract him fully?" Abigail turned her head to the side sharply as her mother had often done when offended by a man. "What's in here that's of interest to you?"

"I'm on a mission," she said firmly and moved towards the door. Skinner grasped her arm tightly and pulled her backwards. "Let go!"

"Gladly, but before I do you might try and think about where exactly I'm standing. Wouldn't want to run into me now, would you?" he snickered. Abigail gasped in disgust and froze. "Again, what are you doing sneaking about?"

"Captain Nemo gave Mina a powder to identify and she says it came from a camera. The powder was on the bridge and Mr. Ishmael thinks that something is amiss," Abigail said proudly. "I believe I can help find out who is behind it by locating a camera or film."

"And you think you'll find a stash of photographs in Mr. Sawyer's room, do you?" he said with amusement. "Well, by all means, have a look further. There's quite a few interesting things in the possession of our little American friend."

Skinner released the girls arm and watched in amusement. Abigail remained perfectly still, shoulders raised in total uneasiness. He groaned and stepped away. "I'm not anywhere near you, love. Go on," he instructed. "I'll just keep me onesies by the bed so as not to arouse any suspicions with you."

"Hmph," Abigail snorted indignantly. She turned back to the desk and closed the journal. She opened the first drawer. Here was a photo of similar size and age to the one her father carried. The frame was of silver, not leather, and seemed to have been cared for a great deal. Inside was a black and white photograph of two young boys sitting beside one another. They were half dressed and rather filthy, but looked happier than any smiling royal's portrait Abigail had ever seen. Each had an arm draped over the other's shoulder. The boy on the left had darker hair hidden under an abnormally large and worn straw hat. The other, who had lighter hair and appeared to be a younger version of Sawyer himself, had a stalk of wheat hanging from the corner of his broad smile. She touched the frame gently and looked at the small note written in black ink on the corner:

_**1877 Friends Forever, H.F.**_

Abigail stared at it intently longer than she knew she should have, but something about the second boy's face was haunting. It seemed to her that Tom wouldn't have left such a dear friend behind so easily. What had become of him? She frowned and slipped it back into the drawer while opening the second with her other hand. In it lay a tattered Bible with a dedication from Louella Marie Sawyer. A worn family tree was on the inside cover ending with Thomas and a second name blotted out, which was obviously his full Christian name. She felt her heart leap a few inches as a small piece of paper fell out from between the first few pages. She picked up the folded paper and carefully opened it to view the writing.

**Thomas,**

** I know where you are going and I know that I cannot stop you. I have told no one, but I expect that you will repay the favor and return promptly. Promptly means right away. Your aunt asked me to remind you to wash your face and keep a clean shirt with you at all times. The new reverend Copeland asks me to remind you to read the holy scriptures every Sunday and say your prayers. Sid sends his regards and so does Mary, though they think that you are still in Washington. Please be careful, Thomas. The river flows a little less now that my husband is gone (which is, as a matter of fact, no fault of yours) and I know that it will dry up entirely if you leave us as well. I will expect to see you soon and have all of the details of your excursion. An excursion is a ****safe**** adventure.**

**Your friend always,**

** Rebecca Thatcher Finn**

Abigail nearly felt like crying at reading this. Something awful had happened before Sawyer had joined the League. She frowned and gently folded the paper once again, laying it delicately between the first and second pages of the book. What was Sawyer hiding? It apparently wasn't anything to worry about as far as the safety of the others, but this was a tragic mystery that needed prompt, immediate, solving. She sighed and opened the third drawer where several boxes of bullets and an open pocket watch sat waiting for their owner to return and head out on his next task. Abigail noted the time on the watch's face and gasped.

"Oh no!" she cried. Skinner sat upright and looked in every direction to try and decipher why she was so upset. "I've lost an hour and fifteen minutes already!"

"Well how long does that leave you with?" Skinner asked in concern.

"Only fifteen minutes more!"

"No worries," Skinner said with a grunt as he hopped to his feet and headed to the door. "What's a better distraction for them than me, eh?"

"Would you?" Abigail asked hopefully. Her eyes glowed with gratitude as she looked around the room for him, unfruitfully of course. "Oh, thank you, Mr. Skinner! I wasn't even going to search your room, that's how convinced I am of your innocence in such things!"

"But not convinced of the others?" Skinner laughed. "I must say, if you're going to think poorly of Mr. Sawyer, you might stop letting your every breath catch on his presence."

Abigail tried to think of some sort of protest, but was quite sure that the room was empty by the time she had thought of one. She shook her head and went back to the doorway. There was only one room left to search. She approached the door with a sickening feeling of dread filling her. Either her apprehension was getting the better of her, or the energy that he had gathered was as dark and unhappy as she had suspected. No matter; there were only fifteen minutes in which to search Dorian Gray's room.

"All I'm saying is that silly things like retribution haven't shaped history the way that things like fear, lust, and greed have," Dorian said waving a hand for emphasis. "Why just look at Rome! The seven deadly sins were pillars for their entire existence!"

"Rome," Nemo said with disgust. "The Babylonians and Egyptians exceeded the Romans in nearly every facet of knowledge and technology. People have yet to truly credit China and Japan with all of their gifts to the modern world in medicine and philosophy, but Rome is credited with being the greatest empire of them all"

"It was one of the largest, not necessarily the greatest," Allan corrected. "And now we have our own empire, one that will not be large, but last."

"You really think so?" Dorian said with a wicked grin.

"You think the empire is coming to an end?" Mina asked with slight irritation. The conversation among these men had been as exciting as brushing her hair the night before. Perhaps engaging conversation would occur with less people out to prove themselves in the room.

"Of course it's coming to end," Dorian laughed. "Do you forget that I have seen the future become history? Empires crumble, gentlemen; there are no exceptions."

"Your views are a little harsh, Mr. Gray," Nemo said with a frown. "Do you really think so poorly of your own home?"

"Do you really think so highly of your own?" Dorian retorted. "The truth we must all face in the end is that our beloved places of origin, the homes that once cradled us, are as riddled with sin and refuse as the most disreputable of its inhabitants. No place or person on earth is truly pure and noble, therefore, it is destined to come to ruination."

A loud crash came from the corner where an end table had been holding a small statue. The statue tumbled to the floor as an unseen intruder muttered 'bugger' and a few other cockney laced obscenities. Allan frowned. Jekyll rose defensively and pointed towards the fallen idol.

"He's at it again!" he shouted.

"Mr. Skinner!" Mina gasped as she rose from her chair and clutched her chest protectively. "The little miscreant's lost his mind!"

"I have not," Skinner said with a casual tone. "I have simply come to see if I might join in the fun. Seems like you were all having a wild time before I arrived."

"This is absolutely disgusting!" Dorian exclaimed as he rose from his chair. "I'm going for a walk, and I wish to do so without any other visitors or their opinions joining me!"

"Don't go down the hall I use," Skinner called after him with a wicked laugh. He turned back to the others who glared angrily at nothing at all. "What?"

"Mr. Skinner, seeing as there are ladies present I suggest you excuse yourself and get some clothes on!" Nemo instructed angrily.

"Well I apologize most profusely to Misses Harker. Didn't mean to offend," he said with an unseen theatrical bow. "I'll just be leaving you four and the good _nurse_ alone, then."

The door opened wide and slammed shut a second later. The remaining members sat down slowly and breathed uneasily through the strained silence.

"I really don't trust that miserable rat being loose," Jekyll muttered.

"That could be said about more than one person on this ship, Doctor," Mina said reproachfully. He looked up at her, wounded by the very idea that she thought badly of him. "Do be more specific."

Abigail entered Dorian's room very quickly and tore through the desk. She was careful to leave everything as it had been, but only just. She was losing precious time and she knew it. The bed was very well made and looked as if Mr. Gray hadn't slept in it at all. The bathroom was lined with everything needed to keep a dandy looking dapper. The shelves on the room had been filled with a few of his personal books. It looked as if Dorian Gray made himself at home wherever he went. This was a trait to be admired in a man, but to be absolutely loathed in an insect. She wondered which Dorian would prove to be in the end. She finally made her way to the closet and coughed. There was a strong odour of alcohol and something else. On the middle shelf laid into the closet was a small picture of a young woman. Abigail's eyes widened at recognizing the image; Sibyl, the girl that had been killed in her dream. She felt a wave of sudden nausea overtake her at realizing she was correct in her assumptions, but something else still lay unseen about Dorian's evil.

Her nostrils flared as she realized that she now smelled the burning metals from earlier. She knelt quickly and peered through several boxes that held either shoes or pressed shirts until coming to a strange box. It was similar to the traveling 'bunrako' puppet show boxes from the east that folded out into a little theatre. The contents were anything but pleasant diversions. There were three small glass containers, one holding two pieces of cloth soaked in blood and the third holding a small slide with what looked like a smear of flesh. Abigail felt her stomach turn to rot at thinking of something so terrible. Behind the containers was something far more disturbing, and exactly what Abigail had been looking for. Five envelopes each with the title: **Nautilus- Navigation/Engineering **sat neatly at the back of the box. She snatched one in her hand and peeked inside. Film. Not just any film; it seemed that the film had only just been developed. She breathed heavily and gripped the sides of the box, shaking. She had been right. Dorian Gray was nothing more than a traitor. To what purpose was still in question, but no one wanting simply to aide the empire would try to capture the specifics of the vessel on film. She suddenly noticed a small folded piece of paper in the corner of the box. She picked it up carefully and began to go over the list inscribed on it.

_**Retrieve:**_

**Skinner- skin sample **

**Nemo- information/outlay of ship**

**Quatermain- Jekyll**

**Jekyll- elixir**

**Mina- blood sample**

**Abigail- 'Wunderkraft'?**

Abigail's hands grew cold with terror at the last line. Wunderkraft had been a phrase Dr. Kruschev had used in class. Some people called it perpetual motion, or cold fusion, but Dr. Kruschev called it simply 'wonder power' in his native tongue and reminded everyone that perpetual motion and cold fusion were two very different things. The formula he had left behind was what he had referred to in all those instances. She frowned and felt her mouth go dry. Dorian was after her, now. She breathed deeply and rose to her feet. The door suddenly opened, creaking only slightly from its hinges. Abigail froze and felt every organ in her body do the same.

"What are you doing in here!?" Dorian demanded. He stormed over to where Abigail stood firmly affixed to the floor, glancing down at the open box of treachery. He snarled. "You little she-weasel," he growled. He reached down and grabbed her sleeve tightly. "How dare you intrude on a gentleman's private property! I'll teach you to sneak about like a common thief!"

Abigail winced and breathed sharply. As Dorian raised his hand menacingly, his eye caught sight of something behind the girl in the closet. The sight was a small picture made many years ago, the subject was one of his darkest memories and first evils committed. He sighed and looked down at Abigail, realizing that he truly didn't want to harm her. He really hadn't ever wanted to harm anyone, especially the girl that still accused him from the picture. How madly he wished that he could either forget through vice or be forgiven through virtue what had happened to her. He softened his grip and now took both the girl's shoulders in his hands, gazing tenderly into her face.

"Please don't think me cruel, Abigail," he said softly. She looked up, meeting the gaze of an almost repentant devil. "I will do the same for you. Please, you _**must**_ not think me cruel."

"You have no reason to think me cruel!" she shouted and pulled free of him. Dorian released Abigail and withdrew a small vial from his pocket. Abigail gasped. "Dr. Jekyll's potion!"

"Go on, Abigail," he said dismissively. "I still have work to do."

"Not if I can help it!" Abigail yelled triumphantly. She shoved past the man and darted out of the room. Dorian frowned and shook his head as she disappeared down the hallway. It would take a small bit of cruelty towards the girl to make sure he completed the task he had begun, but she would be more likely to blame the others directly for what was about to occur. Anyone else sharing his guilt, was the only comfort that Dorian had come to enjoy in recent years. It was becoming a more common occurrence. This time, it would be justified.


	12. A Disappearing Act

**Chapter 12: A Disappearing Act**

Abigail bolted down the hallway and tried to remember where the diningroom had been. Her mind was frazzled with fear and anger all at the same time. Ishmael, the first mate, saw her stop and clutch her chest tightly while looking in every direction like a frantic animal.

"Is something wrong, Miss Quatermain?" he asked as he moved towards her with concern.

"The diningroom, which way is it?" she panted. He stared at her in confusion for a moment and then gestured towards the hallway leading to it. She nodded to him gratefully and then started off in a greater hurry. The doors to the diningroom were still slightly open, but no conversation seemed to be coming from the room at the moment. Abigail raced up to the doors and shoved them open with the force of a bear. She ran towards the table and scooted to a stop before colliding with the edge. "I've found him, I found the traitor!"

"What?" Allan said in confusion.

"Who is it?" Mina asked seeming to be completely focused on the girl and not the looks that were now being exchanged between all the members still present.

"It's Dorian Gray; he's taken at least five pictures of the machinery on board," Abigail panted. Nemo's eyes flared with anger and he rose to standing. "They're with other things that he's taken. He's trying to do something terrible!"

"Calm down, Abigail," Allan said as he reached a hand towards her. "What happened? How do you know this?"

Mina felt it best to speak before the girl incriminated herself. "I sent her into the staterooms to find the camera that had been used on the bridge," she explained. "Apparently it worked."

"You did what?!" Allan said in shock and anger.

"Are you sure that it is Mr. Gray?" Jekyll asked in concern.

"I was just in his room! He has. . . he's. . . he has samples of Misses Harker's blood and something else from Mr. Skinner!" Abigail exclaimed turning more and more pale with each word that escaped her lips. The men present turned to one another in turn, trying to silently decide on a course of action. Mina growled in frustration and moved towards the girl. "He's taken a vial of Dr. Jekyll's potion! He's planning something dreadful with all of them! I was right, father, he's not to be trusted! I told you I sensed that he was off."

"Sensed?" Nemo said looking at Allan sternly. "Is she clairsentient?"

"It's nothing," Allan replied quickly. Abigail looked at him with wounded surprise, but shook off the offense quickly as she began walking hurriedly towards the door to the diningroom. Allan frowned, thinking for a moment that perhaps Abigail had been right and that he simply hadn't been able to sense evil on this voyage the way that she had. Maybe Mr. Gray was as he seemed, cold and selfish. He turned to the others. "Jekyll, you and Sawyer go and see if one of your bottles, or what not, is missing. The rest of us will go and have a conversation with Mr. Gray. We'll get to the bottom of this."

The two nodded and left the room hurriedly. Sawyer stopped for a moment and stared uneasily at Abigail. She looked away, turning pink with the knowledge that she had done something very wrong. She would have to confess about reading his journal and the letter, of course, but that would need to be done much later. Right now the task of making sure that Mr. Gray's sinister plans for the future were thwarted was most important. Allan looked down at Abigail with obvious mixed emotions. Sneaking around even to find the source of danger, just didn't sound like her at all. He frowned and looked towards Mina. Mina returned the gaze with sternness, questioning with complete silence why the man hadn't thought of it himself. Abigail had many talents and advantages on the voyage that the rest of them did not and could not have. He reached towards Abigail and carefully took one of her trembling hands.

"We have to hurry, father," she said. "Now that he knows that I know, he might try anything to get away."

"That would be rather difficult, Miss Quatermain," Nemo interjected as he started towards the door as well. "We're nearly 20,000 leagues below the surface of the sea itself. He would have quite a task ahead of him if he were going to try and escape."

"Never underestimate a cornered beast," Allan said firmly and motioned for the four to start down the hall towards the staterooms.

Abigail felt her heart nearly bursting. She had completed a rather weighty task just now. She had been a spy almost perfectly, but now she could finalize the need behind her task by bringing Dorian's treachery into the light. Her vision began to tremble almost as much as every nerve ending in her body. As the group reached the door to Gray's stateroom, Abigail felt the tension and fear melt into proud resolve. She had caught the villain red-handed and was now ready to watch as the others rendered judgement. Allan knocked on the door harshly. Mina looked down uneasily at the girl. Something wasn't right about this. Abigail was undoubtedly telling the truth, but she had never known Dorian to be so unorganized or careless as to simply let someone loose that thought ill of him especially if they had evidence proving it. Dorian had a silver tongue and velvet hand that he used to steer the thoughts and hearts of anyone useful to him or that could potentially do him harm. Why hadn't he tried to threaten or persuade Abigail into silence? This was not going to end well. The door opened smoothly revealing Dorian dressed in more casual attire than he had been a few moments before. He smiled warmly.

"Goodness, why so many visitors?" he asked with a charming smile. Abigail felt the trembling return for a passing second at his voice and smooth demeanor. "What can I do for all of you?"

"Mr. Gray, there is a need to search this room," Nemo said firmly. Of all the persons present, he was indeed the most angry for the time being. The Nautilus was his life's work. Taking advantage of the vessel or taking away any of its secrets was nothing less than material molestation, adultery with what the Captain saw as his only lady. Dorian looked in feigned confusion at the group, but this was only marked by Abigail and Mina both. As the immortal youth stepped aside and allowed the two older gentlemen and ladies to enter, he looked towards the closet with a twinge of amusement. Abigail was the only one able to see this and felt an angry growl welling up within her. Nemo and Allan searched every inch of the aristocrat's room, more so than Abigail had done. When the two had reached the closet, Nemo almost immediately noticed the unsettled box that Abigail had been examining several moments before. He took hold of it and nodded towards Allan. The two walked over to the desk and set the box down carefully before opening it. The expression of shock on either face was indescribable. "Did you find what you needed?"

"What on earth?" Nemo remarked as he held up a jar with what looked like a small stained cloth in it; it was one of three such jars. The shape was recognizable to anyone who had taken advanced biology or who owned a large garden that was home to many insects. "Are these cocoons?"

"A Viceroy from the Guinea Islands," Dorian said proudly. "It's quite a rare and delicate creature when born, but they can remain in stasis for many years and be transported to regions away from their own easily in such a state. I can hardly wait to be back in Westingshire where I have my country home with its enormous rose garden. She will be a lovely addition, don't you think?"

"Abigail, is this what you saw?" Allan asked in complete bewilderment. Abigail felt her breath stop. She fought away the overwhelming shock of seeing everything so differently than it had been a few moments before. She hurried to her father's side and gazed at the contents of the box in horror. The jars each held a bizarre cocoon and the envelopes behind them read plainly: _**Favershom Brothers Quality Rose Enhancement Powder**_. She grabbed the sides of the box away from the two men and set the contents to the side before turning it upside down and shaking it furiously. "Abigail, there's nothing else in it."

"There was! There were jars with bloody cloth and glass slides in them! Where are the photographs? Where is the list of things to retrieve?!" she exclaimed feeling more and more flustered by the second. She turned angrily to Dorian. "You've hidden them! I know you have! Where are they?"

"My dear girl, I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about," Dorian replied innocently. "I haven't hidden anything from you. You were in here a moment ago; you do remember seeing this box and the butterflies, don't you?"

"This is a trick! He's hidden them, I tell you!" Abigail exclaimed now pointing angrily at the man. "He's lying!"

"I would never lie to you, Abigail," Dorian said with a low and commanding tone. "You were mistaken if you saw anything else."

A piece of paper suddenly slipped out of a small section of the box. Abigail gasped and snatched in one hand.

"Here, this must be the list! It has all of our names on it!" she said waving it proudly. Allan took it from her and carefully opened it. "Look, there are names and items on it that he plans to take and has taken!"

"Abigail, this is not a list of names," Allan said with tremendous disappointment. He handed it to the Captain who frowned and handed it to Abigail. The girl looked at the paper with further horror crossing her visage.

"This, this isn't right," she whispered. The paper held the names and addresses of five people in Kensington and Westingshire with either 'distant cousin invite for tea' or 'old friend of mother's invite to dinner' written beneath each. She breathed heavily and set the paper back on the desk, glaring at Dorian coldly. "What are you playing at?"

"During those dull afternoons and trite evenings with company? Nothing more than the piano. Silence after the meal or entertainment ignites such unpleasant conversations. I can't even get away with so much as a game of billiards without someone remarking about how dreadful it is for me to be living as a bachelor," he replied casually. "Not that anyone would do anything about it. I'm afraid I'm just too intimidating when alone with a woman."

Mina rolled her eyes and snorted softly. As the rest of the group turned to her, loud footsteps filled the hallway. Jekyll and Sawyer appeared at the doorway and looked quite unsettled. Allan moved to face them fully and noted their expressions instantly.

"What did you find?" he asked.

"One of the vials _is_ missing," Jekyll said angrily. "Which means someone is up to no good."

"Well, had I known that I was under investigation I would have asked for an explanation more firmly," Dorian said indignantly. "You really should warn a fellow first."

"He has the vial! It must be on his person!" Abigail said excitedly. She stood angrily in front of Dorian and stared at him. "Hand it over! You're not going to get away with your thievery! Where is it, up your sleeve?"

"Abigail," Allan began as he placed a hand on his daughter's shoulder to calm her.

"As a matter of fact the girl is on to something with that," Dorian said with a wicked grin. Abigail narrowed her eyes, trying to read his actions before they could make her look any more foolish. With a fluid sweep of his right arm, Dorian reached into the cuff of his left sleeve and withdrew a vial of fluid. The vial and fluid were mirror images of the potion that Jekyll used to release his alter ego. The rest of the room gasped in amazement as Dorian effortlessly withdrew the cork and held the rim to his nose. He smiled pleasantly before re-corking the bottle and handing it to Jekyll. "If you drink such a thing to transform, then I wonder just what kind of supplies are in your laboratory."

Jekyll took the vial and removed the cork once again, sniffing the fluid as Dorian had done. His expression shifted and he handed it calmly to Quatermain.

"It's cologne," the doctor said with a heavy sigh.

"It can't be!" Abigail shouted. "He stole a vial of the potion!"

"Abigail, this cannot be Jekyll's potion," Allan said as he stared at the bottle. "This is cologne, though not terribly high in quality."

"Expensive scents tends to make one seem cheap when in a room full of men in French silk. The wealthy are hardly knowledgeable about things of the lower class and find anything unique more intriguing than exotic women. I find it easy to be unique in doing the simple things that no one would expect," Dorian explained with a laugh. Abigail let out a choking sound and stared from face to face in terror. How could they believe all this? Dorian was obviously acting and, as Mina had said before, did it poorly. He smiled tenderly as an owl taking pity on the mouse in its talons. He extended his arm and held out the bottle to her. "Here, Abigail, it will make you feel more at peace if you know for yourself that it is safe."

Abigail took a step back and looked harshly at him. "You're lying," she said softly. Allan began to say something to correct and end the girl's suspicion. "He's lying and you're letting him!" she shouted angrily at the older man. "How can you not believe me? I know what I saw!"

"Maybe someone put 'em here to hide from us and you came on it like they planned," Sawyer offered.

"Don't encourage this," Allan said to the boy. He turned back to Abigail. "You're mistaken, Abigail. Mr. Gray did not take the potion or anything else. We would have seen it. I would have been aware."

"I'm more aware of people than you are!" she shouted in a higher and positively frantic tone. "I'm not wrong about these things, father! I was blessed by the shaman Mkube just like you were! Don't you see? This was why I was given the blessing, to stop terrible things from happening! Something dreadful will happen in Venice if you let him get away with this!"

"Abigail, that blessing was simply a part of a ceremony. He would have said the same thing to any other child born under his care, it is their tradition," Allan explained soothingly. "This irrational behaviour of yours has to stop. We're on a very serious task."

"Then act like it!" Abigail said with tears forming in her eyes. She clenched her hands into fists held over her chest. "Why don't you believe me? You believe in your own gift, surely you must, why not mine!? You know that the blessings are real! Mkube said that Africa would never allow you to die? Don't you remember? He blessed you and that's why you weren't hurt at all when Harry. . ."

"Silence, child!" Allan shouted angrily. Abigail shrank several inches at the rage in his voice and the now furious expression on his weathered face. There was something else as well, something hidden. Abigail was far too emotional at the moment to take time to try and read it. He sighed and turned away for a moment. "I have been careless. I should not have allowed you to come along like this, it's driving you mad." Abigail's eyes grew lighter as the audible breaking of her heart made itself known physically. "When we're done in Venice, I'll find a way to send you home safely. Your mother will be relieved to have you back."

"You believe him," she whispered in horrific realization. "You believe anything but what I told you, what I felt."

"Miss Quatermain, perhaps that wound on your head has jarred something. It's quite possible that you were hallucinating," Jekyll offered. Abigail turned to him in further shock and rage. "Why don't I have a look at it for you?"

"You're mad, you're all mad, you all believe him!" she exclaimed in nearly a scream. She looked from figure to figure in pure hatred at the moment. Not even Mina was safe from the cold glare, but did not have the same share of anger as the others. "Extraordinary Gentlemen indeed! There's hardly anything extraordinary about ignoring the truth! I'm not going to be party to this! When you're all mired neck deep in the lies that you're accepting I'm not going to dig you out!"

Before another word could be spoken aloud, Abigail forced her way out of the room and back into the quarters she shared with Mina. The vampiress watched, feeling a tad helpless in this situation. She believed the girl, but also knew that it was not prudent to play along like she did believe her. Dorian was a dangerous man, far more dangerous than even Abigail suspected. Therefore, it was more practical to act on the side of caution and watch him a while before bringing down the hand of justice on him. She stared at the others with a somewhat saddened look in her eyes.

"Poor dear," Dorian said shaking his head. "She must be absolutely beside herself. The severity of the mission, losing her friend, being away from home, and then to be away from sunlight and open air for several days like this must be so taxing. Little girls aren't meant to be caged like this."

"She was acting out of necessity," Nemo corrected. "Something, or rather someone, on board is setting her on edge. All women have the insight to find evil. It is part of their gift of maternal instinct."

"Then you agree with her?" Dorian said in surprise. "You think me to be a traitor?"

"I believe that there is a traitor and that Abigail senses it to be nearby," Nemo said. "Something about you has drawn her attention. What exactly that draw is has yet to be revealed. Perhaps you have a reputation towards women that she can read from your past."

Mina cleared her throat and stepped towards the doorway. "I will go and calm her for now," she said.

"You'll do no such thing!" Allan said angrily. Mina looked at him in surprise, cocking her chin towards him as a challenge. "It was your fool idea to have her slink around other people's private property like that. You are a bad influence."

"Not so bad as to keep you from asking me to watch after her," Mina reminded coolly. "Abigail needed something to do and I believe that she did find the film in this room. Perhaps Mr. Sawyer is right in thinking that the objects were hidden here by the true villain."

"I really wouldn't put much weight on what the boy says, either," Allan said without turning to face his current point of conversation. "He's been near when more harm has come to her than anyone else."

"Now you wait just a cotton-picking minute! I haven't done anything to hurt her since I found out about all this!" Sawyer shouted defensively. "She's been safest of anyone with me!"

"Really? Let's recheck your recent history," Dorian said. "It was your knife that cut her and your presence that distracted her when she tried to use the rifle up deck."

"That's neither here nor there, Mr. Gray, accidents happen," Jekyll said. "Still, it might be best if she's left alone for a short while."

"My God, do none of you ever think beyond what's easiest for you? She's obviously terrified of something and needs consolation," Mina exclaimed with frustration. "I will go and see to her."

"I will go and see to her. I'm the one that she looks to," Allan said. Mina raised one brow.

"Looked to, but was turned away," she reminded firmly. "Besides, you've been a bad example of reacting properly to heated situations. There is quite a bit of you in her. She needs to be comforted without an open display of pity or condescendence."

"What makes you think I would do either?" Allan asked furiously.

"Past examples this very night," Mina said. "Dealing tenderly with someone without marring pride is something I, as a woman dealing in the world of men, have had to perfect. Delicate egos are the focus of the care of any wife, mother, sister, or daughter. Abigail is not wrong, Mr. Quatermain. There is something amiss. Hopefully, we will be able to uncover it before it does permanent harm to ourselves, the world, or Abigail."

With that, Mina left the room silently and headed straight for her own door. She knew that Abigail had found a significant piece of the puzzle that the League was to solve and combat. She would need to ask the girl questions about what she had truly found. First, however, she needed to be assured that the girl did not hate her for being silent. Mina remembered well how painful it was to have a friend standing silently beside one while under verbal attack. It was time that Abigail learned the secret of silence in order to complete a hazardous task among men. It was one of a woman's greatest weapons to work unseen or unheard. She had been given a taste of it in searching the rooms; now, she would need to perfect it.


	13. The Secret World of Vampires and Women

**Chapter 13: The Secret World of Vampires and Women**

Mina closed the door quietly behind her as she looked to the farthest end of the room. Abigail had been seated on her own bed, obviously sobbing heavily, and now turned away in a flash of anger from the woman. Mina sighed and shook her head. Of all the transitions every one of them was about to make, Abigail's would be the most interesting and difficult. It almost excited the woman to be playing a part in it. She walked towards the end-table near her bed and turned toward Abigail, still angrily turned away.

"I suppose you are angry with me for not agreeing with you," Mina said with a sigh.

"I'm not speaking to you on principle," Abigail replied in a huff. Mina sighed emotionlessly and sat down at her desk, beginning to write a few things on a sheet of paper. Abigail turned towards the woman, furious. "You _knew_ that I was right; you _know_ that he's up to no good." At those words, Abigail turned to face the woman, cheeks bright red with emotion and streaked with the clearest frustration. "He has your blood in his closet! Doesn't that set you on edge?! It's repulsive!"

"It's beyond repulsive, dear; bearing in mind that as his former. . . associate, I have seen him do far stranger things," Mina replied.

"Why so secretive about it now? You told everyone else that the two of you were lovers for a substantial portion of a terrible year," Abigail retorted. "Heaven only knows what kind of things the two of you did if this isn't bothering you!"

"It doesn't bother me because there's really nothing for me to do. The only things that should be given audience to any of the three branches of our consciousness should be those things which we either need to solve or remedy; this constitutes neither," Mina replied as she sat down on the edge of her own bed. "Mr. Gray will have something more foul up his sleeve if he is taken captive at the moment. Surely you've realized that by now, haven't you?"

"I am not speaking to you," Abigail replied turning her head away once again. Her shoulders still quivered with tension and energy fighting to take control. She breathed heavily and wiped either eye free of the last remnants of tears.

"Abigail this is futile. If you're going to ever make the full change into womanhood and still keep your sanity then you must accept the fact that there was absolutely nothing more to do about this evening. The information you gathered was enough. I am very pleased. If your father had a thimbleful of sense to him, he would have been equally pleased," Mina said firmly. "I will tell you what has allowed me to thrive in a world run by men; how I have managed to remain both intelligent and necessary to them. I have accepted the universal truth that allows me to think clearly in all situations involving them."

"And that is?" Abigail said rolling her eyes with irrittaion.

"That by in large, most men are stupid," Mina said casually. Abigail turned to her in horror. "Don't look so surprised. Your mother knew this long before she married your father. In fact it was probably one of the deciding factors. We were created to care for them, to protect them, and to make sure that they do not destroy the living planet they were given charge over."

"That's absurd. If that were true, then we'd all be motherly from the get-go," Abigail corrected.

"And we aren't? Think of all the things your mother needed to know. Aside from the advanced knowledge in medicine, zoology, language, and diplomacy she needed to know how to feed another human being, how to make sure they were rested and healthy, how to comfort on several psychological levels, and how to defend her home physically should the occasion ever arise. I imagine that your mother exceeded the legendary Allan Quatermain long before the two of them were introduced, at least in spirit." Mina stared silently at the girl for a moment, watching as the words took full meaning to her. Abigail's expression softened as she turned back to her friend. "You are by far the most extraordinary person here, it's all a matter of putting your talents to use and learning the times, places, and methods by which to use them."

"I appreciate your effort Misses Harker, but your forced comfort for the position that I've found myself in, which no doubt reminds you of some silly event in your own childhood at that toady boarding school, is not necessary or welcome," Abigail replied hotly.

Mina smiled inwardly, but contorted her expression into an angry scowl with the tips of her fangs visible. Abigail's eyes widened and she scooted away a few inches as the woman stood over her.

"Do you think that I am incapable of teaching you how to act against or fight oppression?" she growled.

"N-n-no," Abigail sputtered. Her senses coupled with remaining anger returned and she glared back at the vampiress. "But ladies do not fight. Besides, you recently said that women act without being seen or heard outright; or at least, you said it sometime ago."

Mina smiled and sat down across from the girl looking deeply into her eyes with amusement. "I thought it, Abigail." The girl looked to the side, almost embarrassed to have used her gift without permission of another. "I envy you. Your gift was developed from your childhood up. I am still discovering all the ins and outs of my own individual talents. And ladies, my dear, do fight."

"Example?" Abigail said with sarcastic enthusiasm.

"Cleopatra, Nefertiri, the Queen of Sheba, Mary Queen of Scots, Joan of Arc," Mina replied. Abigail turned her head to the side and seemed to think more clearly about what the woman was saying with each mention of a figure in history. "And now Abigail Quatermain."

"Even if you do manage to teach me a few things before tomorrow night, I won't really be able to use them. I've failed; Dr. Kruschev will probably be killed," she said sadly. "Father will send me back to mother, mother will have several obscene words about him and any of the other men she finds out were on this vessel, and then I will go back to Agnes Saint Joseph's."

"If that is your plan then I suppose you should start on it right away, though it's not a very pleasant idea and certainly not nearly as productive as what I was going to suggest," Mina said with feigned disappointment. Abigail turned to her in confusion. "But, if you'd rather go back to Cambridge. . ."

"What are you talking about? What were you going to suggest?" Abigail said with renewed curiosity. Mina smiled brightly. Until she reached full womanhood, Abigail would be nearly as easy to manipulate psychologically as a much older man; still intelligent, but very eager to take suggestions.

"Well, I was just thinking about how well you went about your task this evening," Mina said emotionlessly as she rose and strode over to the vanity table across the room. "It seems a shame to lose such a diligent and stealthy member of our group when rescuing the scientists will call for such talents directly."

"But my father. . . " Abigail began. Mina laughed softly.

"Your father is frightened for you. I can tell that fear is exactly the reason he has made himself so harsh in the presence of anyone near you. It's confusing the living daylights out of Sawyer. One minute the old man is almost fatherly to him and the next he's snarling at him like rabid dog." Mina began removing the numerous pins that had held her long hair up all evening. Her hair was as brilliant red as Abigail's, but with less twists and turns to it. It was as if the elder woman's experience and the young girl's untamed enthusiasm were mirrored in their vermillion locks. "Leave your father to Nemo and I. I am sure that the captain will be a little uncomfortable simply allowing you to leave back to that school after sharing so much of his theories with you. He seems a little endeared to you as well, if you ask me."

Abigail shook her head. "Is every man on this voyage looking for an innocent young girl?" she asked with a heavy sigh. Mina laughed quietly once again and moved towards the door.

"Every man on the planet is looking for an innocent young girl, Abigail. It is what you must be most cautious and choosy of throughout the whole of your life while unmarried," she said. Abigail watched the woman stand at the door and become perfectly still. The girl narrowed her eyes and stared intently at the vampiress in confusion. What had caused the vibrant woman to become so motionless and expressionless. Abigail stood slowly and walked towards the door. "Quietly, Abigail. There is something you need to see," Mina instructed without looking in the girl's direction. Abigail nodded and joined the woman at the doorway. The door was cracked ajar, but only just enough to allow a few centimeters of vision into the hallway. The men of the League still stood in the hallway, conversing softly.

"I'm sure it was all a misunderstanding, poor dear," Dorian said. "I think the doctor is quite justified in having another look at her this evening."

"She hasn't seemed to have exhibited anything other than being afraid of you," Jekyll remarked. "Perhaps she simply feels overwhelmed with our arrival in Venice tomorrow evening."

"I still think that Abigail might be able to lead us to something important. She is able to sense evil, after all," Nemo said.

"I agree. She just needs to be able to focus a little, that's all," Sawyer added as he turned to Allan. The older man's anger seemed to have subsided for now. He acted strangely towards the youth, mostly when Abigail was present. "Maybe you should ask her to try and focus sensing it tomorrow morning; you know, after she's had a little time to sleep on it."

"An excellent idea," Allan said with a nod. "Abigail really is blessed somehow, but it isn't as powerful as she'd like to think." Abigail gasped and raised a hand in protest. Mina grasped the girl's hand and gently set it back down with a command for silence. "She's been on edge since this morning when she discovered that this Fantom is after her as well."

"After her?" Nemo asked with concern. "To what purpose?"

"For this," Allan said holding up a small folded paper. Abigail's eyes widened and a streak of rage moved through her. She narrowed her gaze more fully and felt relief take the place of rage. This paper was something her father had written on or brought along, not the formula that she had given him. "She brought it from the scientist at the school. He dealt almost exclusively in physics and chemistry and seemed to have claimed to have created a method for generating power from nothing at all. Dr. Kruschev, her friend, hid it with her before he was taken."

"I know a great deal about chemistry and physics," Dorian said proudly.

"Do you, now?" Allan said with a tone of amusement.

"Well, not to brag but I was the one that Mina really has to thank for her education," the immortal remarked. Abigail heard a very low growl find its way from the very centre of the vampiress's being. Mina's eyes nearly glowed red at the comment the man had made. "Here, let me have a look at it."

Allan smiled brightly and handed the paper casually to the youth. Dorian looked it over carefully, seeming to study each line with keen interest as he searched for something he wished to recognize. He frowned in disappointment.

"What is it?" Jekyll asked in genuine curiosity.

"It's nothing, chicken scratch," Dorian said as he handed it back to Quatermain. "I'm afraid that the old cad used your daughter as a potential distraction. Poor dear, she seems to be in harm's way at every turn."

"She's near it, but she's never let it get the better of her," Sawyer corrected. "She's just a little out of practice, I think. She needs to get back to the wild."

"Indeed," Allan replied with a bright grin. "Well, I believe I should go and see to her for now, gentlemen. I suggest that everyone get as much rest as they can before we arrive tomorrow."

The rest of the group nodded resolutely and bid one another good evening before turning back towards their own rooms. Allan turned and walked towards Mina's stateroom, knocking softly on the door. Mina opened it quickly and stepped aside. Abigail stepped behind her, allowing her father enough room to enter as Mina closed the door firmly. Allan sighed heavily and looked around the room until he had located Abigail.

"What exactly was in that box?" he asked quietly. Abigail looked up towards Mina, awaiting a cue as to whether or not to tell her father again what she had seen. Mina nodded towards him and then sat down on a nearby chair to wait as the next few moments played out. "What did you see when you searched his room?"

"There were two jars with cloth from a new handkerchief that had blood on them. There was a third jar with a slide that had a smear of what looked like skin or something on it. Behind the jars were five small envelopes with newly developed pictures of the Nautilus. Most of them were of the controls and machinery, nothing interesting," Abigail said.

"Not to you, but to someone else," Allan said with a sigh. "What about Jekyll's potion?"

"He had it with him in hand when he discovered me in his room. Next to Dr. Kruschev's formula, it was the last thing on his list," Abigail said. Allan nodded and looked pensively into nothing. She smiled. "You do believe me."

"Of course I do," he said. "The rest of them won't, though. Except perhaps Nemo, that's why I asked you to investigate persons separately and silently," he said as he looked at Mina with irritation. "Searching the rooms was profitable, but nearly criminal. The next time something like that crosses your mind, speak with me first."

"I'll do my best, father," Abigail replied with a mischievous smile. Allan groaned and scratched his head.

"I suppose that will be all I can hope for at the moment," he muttered. "In the meantime," he said as he turned and walked towards the girl, ". . . stay as far from Mr. Gray as you possibly can. Keep yourself busy with something else."

"Like what?" Abigail asked with further mischief in her eyes. He sighed heavily.

"We'll be updeck for a while in the morning," he said. "Be up after breakfast and I'll show you how to properly use the rifle."

Abigail's eyes widened in surprise. She breathed deeply and looked up at him glistening with excitement. "Truly?"

"Yes; someone else will teach you if I don't," he remarked looking towards Mina and then out towards the rest of the ship. "Besides, you're not the only one that needs to learn."

"Indeed," Mina said with amusement. The two turned to her for a moment, before Allan cleared his throat and looked at the clock on the wall.

"You need to be in bed, Abigail," he said leaning forward and softly kissing her forehead. "Tomorrow will be anxious enough and the evening will be even worse."

"Are you still planning on sending me back to England?" Abigail asked nervously. Mina turned her gaze to the old hunter as well, awaiting the answer while putting as much emotional pressure on the man as possible. He sighed heavily.

"Mr. Gray is most definitely the traitor and he knows where you are," Allan said heavily. "It will still be safer for you here with me." He turned to Mina and gave a half smile. "And a few others to protect you as well."

Abigail smiled brightly and wrapped her arms around him for a moment. "Goodnight, father," she said.

"Goodnight, Abigail," he replied tenderly. As he walked to the door, he gazed uncomfortably at Mina. "Good evening, Misses Harker."

"Goodnight, Mr. Quatermain," she replied with a soothing grin. As he left the room quietly, Mina turned to the girl with the same broad smile. "Well," she said. "That was easier than I thought it would be. He sees reason rather quickly for the average aged adventurer. Your mother must be pleased with that."

Abigail frowned at remembering her mother. She sighed and hurried behind the dressing screen and slipped into her nightgown. Now she felt more homesick than ever. Strange, though, that at the moment she felt more of an ache for both her parents than for Africa itself. She had felt terribly out of place for so many months at the school, but now that she was away she felt equally as grieved for incompletion. She sighed and climbed under the covers on her bed slowly.

"I suppose you won't be showing me anything, then," Abigail said as she watched Mina emerge from the dressing screen.

"Did you learn everything you need to know just now?" the woman asked cautiously. Abigail frowned at her and shook her head. The vampiress grinned. "Good, a wise answer. Be ready tomorrow afternoon, there is much to do."


	14. The Calm Before

**Chapter 14: The Calm Before**

Abigail had risen quickly from a night of terrible dreams once again. The vivid setting of the dressing room was beginning to haunt her thoughts at all times during the night. Not even the presence of Sawyer had been able to invade and rescue her in that instance. This time, the man who stood over the girl forced the liquid into her mouth and Abigail was powerless to leave the scene until the girl had ceased writhing. Abigail felt ill at awakening. She had heard Dorian's wailing in the dream, but hadn't been able to see him. She shuddered madly as she climbed out of the bed and set about getting dressed. The blue and gray outfit from the day before still lay near the screen. As Abigail reached for it, a hand gently settled on her shoulder. She turned and looked up at Mina who smiled at her calmly.

"That won't suit you, not today," Mina said. She handed her another bundle this one of black and white. "Nor tonight."

The outfit consisted of the sparse undergarments, a proper white blouse with silvery buttons, and a black leather skirt that's length would reach just below her knees. Abigail looked at the woman in apprehension.

"Are you sure this will be proper?" she said.

"To get into the mind set of a physician or a woman of power, you must set what is proper as second and place what is practical first. This is more than practical for you to do any learning with weaponry," Mina replied. "You'll need to be able to move your arms more freely when with your father in a few moments and you'll need to be able to move everything freely when we practice fighting with other weapons later in the afternoon."

"What exactly do you plan to show me? I probably already know most of the same things that you do when it comes to fencing," Abigail said as she went behind the dressing screen.

"Fencing is good when battling an enemy with a large blade. There are times where other things will be all that is available to you," Mina answered. "They accompany the element of surprise and shock in most cases."

"And how did you learn that?" Abigail asked as she stepped out, straightening the few folds still remaining in the skirt. Mina smiled brightly.

"There are a plethora of things kept hidden in the world of the Romany, particularly the Syzgany in Transylvania," she replied with a wide grin. Abigail still remembered the sight of the vampiress's fangs the night before. She hadn't allowed them to show fully, mostly because she hadn't been truly angry at the girl. Still, after the display in Dorian's flat, any reminder of the woman's individuality was enough to set anyone on edge. Mina breathed deeply and noticed that her presence was no longer as frightening for the girl, but something had seemed to trouble her; indeed, something had troubled her all night. "You cried out in your sleep last night. Did the dream return, the dream in the theatre you described?"

"More vividly," Abigail whispered. "Mr. Gray has a picture of her in his closet, that must have done something to make it more disturbing. Last night I wasn't able to get away from it at all until after she was dead. It took her several minutes. . . she suffered, so did he."

The woman looked to the side. The sorrows and sins that Dorian had endured had added to the beauty of his character in the beginning. After learning that he had committed vices as terrible and as frequently as those he loathed, Mina had found the once tortured soul of the boy to be nothing short of a demon trapped by the flesh he wished to rend apart on the others around him. Yet the stories of his original suffering often gave way to pity that outweighed the disgust she had for his original sin, vanity. In the end, Mina had decided that pity, while a cornerstone in life with any man, should never be the sole purpose of one's relationship with their beloved. Pity was not love. She turned back to the girl and breathed deeply, before clearing her senses. There was far too much to keep them busy for the next few hours than to allow silly things from the past to cloud her thinking. Abigail watched the woman's expression for a few moments before the two headed out into the hallway. Everyone on board seemed to have some terrible secret, crime, or horrible loss in their past. Mina's appeared to be only that she was a vampiric widow, but the clues that she gave of her short time with Dorian spoke of something else as well, at least to Abigail.

As they walked towards the diningroom, Abigail thought back to the letter and photograph that she had found in Sawyer's room. What secret did he have? He was no criminal, he didn't seem to be hiding something terrible at all, and he showed the utmost in concern for the lives of those around him. His presence was most assuredly that of a young wolf, seeking for nothing further than protecting the pack, but why? Abigail felt her mind begin to race with more than curiosity and concern for the lad. He was more than simply protective. He had strength and wit that she had never seen in any other male figure in her life; perhaps this was due to his American heritage. His eyes, the green and brown glowed with a natural humour and depth. She sighed softly, unaware of anyone else noticing her sudden change in temperament. Abigail seemed blissfully unaware of most everything as she finished the morning meal and then headed up to the deck to join her father. All morning, the crew and other men had been buzzing with conversation revolving around Abigail's claim of a traitor among them. Quatermain has assured them all that he was convinced of Skinner being the culprit. In blaming another that seemed an obvious choice, he hoped to make Gray unaware of his knowledge from Abigail's search. He stood at the railing once again with a crewman firing buoys out to the open sea for targets. Abigail smiled brightly and stood beside him as he lowered the rifle. This one was not Matilda. Abigail admired the craftsmanship for a moment, suddenly noticing initials that had been etched into it; **T. H. S.**

"Where's your rifle?" she asked curiously. Allan smiled.

"This one seems to have a better buffer on it," he said looking down at the barrel with a smile. "It won't throw you halfway to New Zealand."

"It'll throw me all the way then?" Abigail asked playfully. The man laughed and took his daughter's right hand gently, placing it under the weapon with her fingers able to grasp the trigger. With the left, Abigail instinctively took hold of the gun beneath the barrel. Allan carefully positioned her arms properly, resting the end of the weapon so that it did not immediately touch her shoulder. Abigail looked up at him in confusion. "Shouldn't it be braced?"

"Your grip and stance should be brace enough," he replied. "Now, stand as if you were ready to strike a blow to your enemy with a foil, feet shoulder's width apart."

Abigail nodded and stood as instructed, feeling more able to balance with the gun at this angle. She gripped the barrel once for a good feel of the weapon. This one seemed to be much lighter than Matilda. She breathed deeply and steadied her thoughts as her father turned and called for the man to fire another buoy out to sea. Abigail watched as the little red orb settled on the rough surface of the water. Not many people learned to fire at a moving target right off, but then not many people had seen weapons like these in action since childhood. Her father leaned over her slightly, instructing her on how to compensate a weapon at any time for movement by positioning the sight of the weapon and allowing for wind as well. She drew in another deep breath as he placed one hand on her left shoulder and the other on her right elbow, instructing her to fire as soon as she felt confident that she could hit the target perfectly. Abigail watched the buoy, easing up and down with the choppy waters. The sound of the sea filled her ears and the sight filled her mind. There was nothing else for the moment. With a final deep breath, she gripped the trigger tightly and fired out into the horizon. **BOOM!** This time, the target shattered into a spray of red dust settling back on the water as the sound from the rifle echoed into the distance. Abigail set the rifle down a few inches and beamed.

"Well done," Allan said with both surprise and full admiration. "Well I suppose you'll take to this after all."

"That wasn't so hard," she said. "At least not the first time. _Chilao_!" The crewman behind them fired another buoy into the air. Abigail raised the rifle just as the base of the ball touched the surface of the ocean and centered herself as before. Within a few seconds, she fired the rifle and blasted the target again. She lowered the rifle and stared out at the unmarred sea with satisfaction.

"Heavens! You're a natural," Allan remarked.

"It is in my blood," Abigail replied casually. Before either could request another target, the door to the staircase opened with a loud creak. The two turned and watched as Sawyer closed the door behind him, trying to be as careful as possible with the heavy metal slab. Allan looked back out towards the ocean, keeping one hand firmly on Abigail's shoulder.

"Two students on one voyage," the boy remarked. "Is she as good as I was yesterday?"

"Did you need something?" he asked without turning to the boy. Sawyer leaned against the door and watched the two for a second before answering.

"It's just I still haven't figured out why you signed on for all of this," he said. "Nemo and Jekyll told me that you hate the British Empire and then they can't think of a reason why. I'm wondering why you wanted to help them if you really do hate them so much?"

Abigail looked up towards her father, expecting a heated reaction. Allan frowned and remained calm, keeping himself turned away.

"They called on me, and I answered, that is that," Allan replied flatly.

"That ain't all of it, is it?" Sawyer asked, trying to pry the secret that the old hunter was keeping from the rest out of the man. Allan grunted and tapped Abigail's shoulder as he called for another target. The crewman fired just as Abigail pulled the trigger, blasting the orb in mid-air. A slight smile crossed the old man's face despite the thought of the questions that were about to inevitably converge on him. "Sorry I asked, then."

Allan sighed heavily and looked towards the boy. It was time someone else knew a little about the whole incident. "Six years ago, the British approached me with a mission for Queen and country. They needed help apprehending thieves turned smugglers along the Galana river," he explained.

"That sounds like it'd be the morning ride to work for you, sir," Sawyer said as he stood beside the two. He crossed his arms and leaned over the railing looking towards the old man as if waiting for the rest of one of his stories of adventure and danger. "Didn't seem right, or something?"

"It seemed simple enough. I signed on without hesitation and opted to take my son along. I had taught him everything I knew about the missions I'd taken and I thought I was ready to pass the torch," he said. The weathered features on the man's face now grew heavy with six years of mourning and guilt. Sawyer took a step backwards, realizing that the fact Abigail hadn't spoken of a sibling was about to be explained. "I led the expedition, my son followed. He died in my arms. After that, I just couldn't continue in the service of the empire. The legend of Allan bloody Quatermain had ended."

Sawyer frowned and turned to Abigail. The girl gazed out towards the open ocean, trying to push aside the emotions that had never been addressed at the death of her brother. Harry had been a teenager when she had been born. Even though he was male, he took as active a place in caring for the girl from birth up as either parent had. She and Harry had been inseparable for the majority of their lives. Sawyer stayed perfectly still for a moment, watching as Allan tried to gather his thoughts and emotions and lead them away from the memory of that awful day and the six years that had followed. He sighed heavily and took the gun carefully from Abigail.

"Are we done?" Abigail asked in confusion.

"That's enough for now," he replied softly. Abigail frowned and watched as her father slunk slowly back into the staircase and below deck once again. She frowned.

"He's still quite dodgy on that subject," she remarked. Sawyer turned to her uneasily. "I wonder if mother wanted him to have it settled by the time he sent for us, or if she wanted him to be able to start settling it when he called us home."

"Your family's had quite a few odd turns," he said. "I'm surprised you still know which way's up, no offense."

"None taken," she sighed. Abigail smiled and leaned over the railing in like manner. "Well, I suppose that it hasn't been an easy ride, but if you maneuver through the tragic enough then you learn to avoid it before it strikes."

"Accidents happen, though," Sawyer reminded.

"True, but not all losses have to be tragic. Mother told me that after our spirits have had time to feel and adjust to the new state of life, then anything felt past that is all up to us," Abigail explained. Here eyes began to blaze with hidden memories and emotion. "That's why we left, she says. Father made the wrong choice."

"It ain't over yet, Miss Abigail. He's still got time," he offered kindly. "He seems to have done a little learning since then according to you."

She smiled and nodded. A question suddenly entered her mind as she looked back up into the hazel green sunset in his eyes. "Mr. Sawyer, what is your middle name?" she asked.

He chuckled and turned away. "I hate my middle name, try to pretend it's not there most times," he replied. "Why do you ask?"

"I think I saw something that might have been yours," she continued. "I need to know."

"It's ridiculous, you'd never see me the same ever again," the boy replied with a shade of pink overtaking his features.

"Mine's Acacia," Abigail offered. "It was the type of tree nearby when mother and father married."

He laughed and stared out into the water, avoiding the girl's inviting smile and gaze. After a few moments of silence, he sighed heavily and looked upward. "It's Hannibal," he said quietly.

"Hannibal?" Abigail said in amazement. She looked back towards the stairs. "Then it must have been yours; Thomas Hannibal Sawyer, that's what the initials were for."

"On what?" he asked. Before Abigail could answer he clapped his hands once in realization. "Oh, right! That rifle I gave Quatermain! I forgot I'd left that on it."

"You gave father one of your own weapons?" Abigail said in surprise. From listening to her father and watching all men like him, she knew that this had been no small sacrifice and certainly not a casual gift. "One that you used yourself?"

"I read a little bit about him before coming over to England. Didn't have time to do a lot of reading then, but enough to respect him. Besides," he looked towards the stairs as well. ". . . I have another one to use."

"Why carry two large weapons like that? Seems a bit heavy for a spy, to me," Abigail remarked and moved an inch closer to the young man as silently as possible. He frowned and sighed heavily.

"I wasn't alone when I came to England," he said softly. "I started carrying the rifle only a few hours after we arrived."

"What happened?" Abigail asked in concern. The same look of sheer guilt and sadness that had appeared in her father's eyes washed over all of Sawyer's presence.

"My partner was with me. He and I, we grew up together. We were like brothers," he said sadly. "Our mission was to come this way and try to stop that Fantom from heading west. The president and all of the rest of the secret service believed that we were next on his list. Guess they overestimated since he didn't head out that way at all."

"And he was killed," Abigail interjected, hoping to spare him from saying it himself.

"Shot dead for no reason by that Fantom. He had us cornered and we'd run out of ammunition, see, so then this character walks up all dressed like a bear hunter with a iron mask and says '_I've watched you, both of you. You have been the great Damon and Pythius. But now returned to Syracuse; who should die_?' And then, well, he just shot him," Sawyer explained, trying to use the extended explanation of the scenario to hide any show of emotion. "After that killer left, Huck looks at me and tells me to watch after everything at home and finish the job."

"Did they send his remains on without you?" she asked in horror.

"Well I couldn't finish the mission and make sure he got back to Missouri all at the same time. That letter you saw was really something. She wrote immediately. It's taken me a week and a half to track down the cad and join up with this group, shouldn't take me much longer," Sawyer said with a shrug. "Besides, I'll only be looking after home part time, he knew that. Everyone there's got most everything pretty well in hand since we left. Why we must have cut the petty crime right down the middle when we left for the academy. All the silly things we did back then. I think back now and _I_ would've hated me then."

"I doubt that," Abigail laughed. She fidgeted uncomfortably for a moment. "Mr. Sawyer, there's something I need to confess."

"It's alright, I know you were in my room. I know what you saw. As careful as you were, you're still no professional spy or thief, not yet anyway," he said with a smile. "Just kinda surprised that you suspected me, though."

"Oh, I didn't! I just wanted to see something," she said turning away.

"Well you must have found something you wanted in the good book," he remarked. Abigail turned to him in surprise. He smiled and moved another inch towards her, still keeping a cautious distance. "I been reading it on Sunday since I left and I had got to the last part of Genesis. You left the note at the front cover."

"Oh," Abigail said shamefacedly.

"You know, that last story always gets me to thinking when I'm out on duty," he said smiling. "The story of how Joseph made it through all that mess to be nearly a king, it's got to be the most powerful story in the Bible, 'cept maybe the story of the saviour, of course. It's just that one line, that one scripture that always gets me to thinking."

"Which one?" Abigail asked. She had been raised with moderate religious influence from moderately religious parents. The majority of her moral choices came from knowledge of common sense and a natural concern for the well-being of others.

"The one that says 'what you meant to me for evil, God has meant to me for good'. It's powerful," he said. "Kinda comforts a man to think that anything that seems bad can turn out to really be a blessing."

Abigail smiled and reached for the necklace that dangled within the blouse. She withdrew it and looked at it with tender admiration. Darkness becomes light, curses become blessings, evil becomes good, harm becomes betterment; that was what the symbol really meant. She quickly set it back inside her collar and folded her hands neatly behind her. He turned and stared at her with more than a warm smile. Abigail was strange at the moment. She was so young, so delicate, but something else existed in her as well. He wondered if she were every bit the youngster he had seen in his friends at home, one in particular.

"I can't remember the story very well," she said looking downward a beat. "Could you let me read it?"

"Of course," he said. He reached out his hand gently and grasped one of hers. She had small hands, very genteel, but there was a strength in the grip that returned to meet his. "Come on, I still have it marked."

The two walked below deck together, trying to decide just what the other was and what about them was so appealing. They walked quietly into his stateroom, quite unaware of any impropriety that might have been seen of it. As they sat down together near the desk, reading and speaking, time disappeared from both memory and focus. They had no past, there was no future, there was only now and every possibility that it contained. As their mind began to reach the conclusion that the something else was not with the other person, but in fact between them in a way that neither had felt before, a loud ringing came from one of the bells upstairs. Abigail looked towards the door in shock.

"We've reached Venice!" she whispered in horror. "Misses Harker must be wondering where I am!"

"Better get going, then," he said and took two pistols from his closet at the back of the room in hand. Abigail watched him cautiously, then looked towards the other rifle leaned against the coat rack. She noted that the initials on this rifle were **H. F.**Abigail watched as he took two boxes of the ammunition from the drawer and began to place them on his belt. She glanced at the watch while she had a chance. It was nearly 8 o'clock in the evening. She had been conversing and reading for twelve hours?! She shook herself furiously as he walked towards the door. "Come on, they'll need us up there, too."


	15. The Storm

**Chapter 15: The Storm**

Abigail and Sawyer reached the exit that they had used to board the Nautilus in the beginning only a few seconds after leaving his stateroom. Abigail's heart thundered with anxiety at the thought of having missed something important. She had never been late or absent from anything in her life. The rest of the League were already exiting the ship with a large group of crewmen. Some of the crew now held weapons as they left the vessel and began to scan the area and others were in elaborate diving suits. Abigail watched the men in silver carved helmets intently as the captain shouted orders to deploy them beneath the city to search for explosives. Sawyer moved to stand between Mina and Allan, looking around nervously as he surveyed the buildings. Jekyll and Dorian were watching the scenery carefully. Abigail stood silent as Mina turned to face her.

"Lost track of time?" the woman said with a grin. Abigail frowned and lowered her head.

"I am very sorry, Misses Harker," she said softly. "I was with . . ."

"I know where you were, Abigail. I saw the two of you enter his stateroom," she replied with a broader, more excited smile. "I told your father that I hadn't been with you, but that you were undoubtedly waiting in the room for me. What were the two of you doing that took over half the day?"

"We were reading the holy scriptures," Abigail replied uneasily. "The book of Genesis."

"Indeed," Mina said turning back to the others. "I doubt that what we will encounter here will be the end of the trouble with this Fantom. So, if you have learned all you need about original sin, then you and I will continue when the rest of us are finished." Abigail turned a deep shade of pink and nodded slowly. Mina sighed heavily and turned back to the rest of the men around her, looking up towards the skyline. "The city is vast, he could be anywhere."

Sawyer looked back towards Abigail for a moment, trying to decide whether or not to ask her to go back inside. Really that privelege belonged to her father, but something in him at this moment made him feel more frightened than ever and not just for Abigail alone. At least being the youngest present, the others would do their utmost to protect her as well, and he didn't have the sole burden of watching after his new friend. He sighed with relief and looked towards Quatermain.

"What about Skinner?" he asked with concern.

"Oh, I'd be alert for his treachery," Gray replied calmly. Quatermain ignored this and silently asked the unseen thief to forgive him. Skinner was used to receiving the blame when things went awry, but this time he was innocent, or at least he certainly seemed to be. Gray carried an air of darkness with him, something that sent shivers through anyone with fine tuned senses. Small explosions shook the atmosphere. Mina cried out in surprise and everyone jumped several feet backwards. Abigail felt a current suddenly surge through the back of her mind beginning at her spine. It urged her to stare out towards the left. She frowned and narrowed her eyes. According to the small portions of the blueprints of Venice that she had glanced at in her father's quarters, this was one of the most stable areas of the floating city. After a few seconds of staring at this distant stable island, she felt the current fade into nothing. "Fireworks," she suddenly heard Gray comment aloud. Abigail looked upward along with the rest of the group.

"Bloody carnival," Allan muttered.

Mina put a hand to her chest and breathed deeply. "God, I feared the worst," she sighed.

"It's alright," Sawyer remarked, glancing in Abigail's direction. "We still have . . . "

_**BOOM!**_

A series of enormous explosions ripped through the city, shattering more than the celebratory music. The gound trembled and lurched beneath everyone, sending some men forward onto their knees and others onto their backs. Mina steadied herself alongside the others, trying their best to compensate with their own movement for the movement of the stone beneath them. Rubble and debris began to fall from the upper portions of nearby buildings and plummit to the ground or splash heavily into the canal. Abigail shrieked and grabbed hold of one of the chains on the door panel of the ship, watching the buildings beyond as they began to seemingly shrink into the sea beneath them. She gasped and watched as the effect began to move in a line. The buildings that had collapsed were causing the buildings near them to collapse.

"The buildings are falling like dominoes!" a crewman shouted from the retractable crow's nest.

"We're too late!" Mina exclaimed. Abigail winced as the buildings around them continued to tremble and warp.

"There must be more than one bomb," Quatermain reasoned aloud. Abigail watched in amazement as her father darted to the side and observed the destruction. He drew in a deep breath and turned back to his team. "Nemo," he called. The captain turned and stared at the man in tense expectation. "The bombs are at the city centre. We must take out one of the buildings."

"Of course!" Nemo exclaimed in realization. His eyes burned with a plan forming by the second. "We'll get ahead of the collapse and destroy the next building!"

"We need to interrupt the chain!" Sawyer added as he looked back and forth between the two men.

"With a beacon placed for the exact coordinates, I could launch a rocket and take out the building, ending the domino effect!" Nemo continued. Sawyer nodded quickly and turned back to where Abigail and Mina stood trying to think as quickly as the men, obviously not expecting this mass violence. He raced towards them and looked at the elder first. Satisfied that the woman could handle herself, he turned to Abigail.

"Come on," he said as he quickly grasped her hand. Mina reached forward and took hold of Abigail's shoulder, causing the boy to jump backwards several inches in surprise.

"NO!" Mina said defensively. As strong as the lad might have been, he was still quite reckless and impetuous as a general rule. "She stays with me, not you."

He frowned, but nodded to the woman. "I'll be right back," he said before darting back into the ship. Abigail followed him for a moment with her gaze, but turned back to the city and the men trying to decide how best to defend it as the crowd of carnival guests began to scream more loudly. She covered her ears for a moment, then decided that it would not look courageous or practical to be so frightened of a little loud noise. She grunted in agitation and looked at the buildings. It seemed hopeless to do anything to stop this mayhem. How could the League possibly stop such a chain reaction? The explosives had been placed in positions that had been planned out for weeks in advance. The team had only a few seconds in which to come up with a proper plan of action. This was impossible. _No it isn't_, her mind corrected. _Nothing is impossible, father says. Things can be improbable, but it is up to us to put them to the test_. The psyonic current that had struck her a moment before suddenly caught her attention once again. She turned, following the urge to look to the side. Her vision met with the sturdy platform several yards away and the street leading past it. That area was safe, the only safe place for the carnival guests to escape to.

"This is ridiculous!" Dorian suddenly protested. All eyes turned to him as he gestured furiously to the city around them with a wide sweep. "We'd never get there in time!"

"There would be no room for error, but it could work! It is our only chance!" Nemo countered.

"What are you talking about? Gray's right," Jekyll shouted desperately. "There's no possible way we could reach a building at the front of the chain, it's moving too quickly!"

Dorian turned to Quatermain with a disapproving sneer. "I am an immortal, sir, not an impala! How can we outrun this?" he demanded.

Quatermain frowned with irritation and opened his mouth to reply. Before the hunter could give the immortal a proper rebuttal, the automobile flew forward from the Nautilus's open panel. Abigail turned, her mind drawn towards the familiar sound of the engine's shriek. She smiled brightly at seeing Sawyer behind the wheel. He looked towards the team in front of him and grinned with excitement. "Going my way?" he asked. Quatermain smiled brightly and motioned for Dorian to get into the vehicle before him. Mina hurried towards the automobile with Abigail close behind. She frowned and motioned for the girl to stay put. "Hurry, we're losing time!"

"I will need coordinates!" Nemo cried as he started back towards the Nautilus. He stayed standing and watched as the team climbed into the vehicle. Abigail reached forward and grabbed Mina's arm.

"Misses Harker, I can help!" she shouted.

"No, Abigail, not this time," Quatermain corrected. "You stay here with the ship. Nemo, can you track this thing?"

"Of course," Nemo said stepping forward and taking hold of Abigail by the shoulder. The girl looked at him angrily for a moment, but quickly turned her desperate gaze back to Mina. The vampiress frowned and narrowed her eyes as she leaned forward to the girl.

"I can get the people to safety. There's a stable area right over there," Abigail said softly as she pointed. Mina glanced towards it and breathed deeply. "They'll listen to me, I'll direct them."

"Abigail, you'd only be a little girl to them," Mina reasoned. Abigail glared back at her.

"And you're only a woman to _them_," Abigail hissed leaning closer. Mina smiled brightly.

"Nemo has a small collection of blades in the study near our staterooms; you'll need one to take with you," she whispered commandingly. "Make sure you stay far enough away from the danger to stay alive."

Abigail nodded as her father's voice interrupted them. Mina leaned back into the vehicle as Nemo led Abigail back away from them. "The automobile will be your target," Quatermain shouted. "Launch the rocket when you see this flare!" Quatermain held a flare gun aloft for a moment. "Be ready, we don't have much time. Keep Abigail out of harm's way!"

"Right!" Nemo replied, holding onto the girl's shoulder protectively. "Be safe and swift!"

"Jekyll, come on! We'll need Hyde!" Quatermain called as the doctor stepped back timidly. His eyes trembled with fear and anxiousness. He appeared to feel as trapped and helpless as the victims in the carnival itself. He swallowed hard and thought for a moment. "Hurry up, man!"

"No!" he suddenly exclaimed. The group stared at him in shock. He breathed deeply, feeling that he would be unable to control himself unless he remained helpless. "I'll never let Hyde use me again, it's too dangerous!"

"Then what good are you to anyone?" Dorian sneered at him. Sawyer sat forward and turned to Abigail.

"You'll need to stay here until its safe. There's about to be a big raucous," he said with a wink.

Abigail smiled towards him and nodded. Without another word, he gripped the steering wheel and wrenched it to the left. As the automobile sped out of sight, Nemo started back towards the ship. Abigail allowed him to keep hold of her as they walked back on board the Nautilus. She played a hundred different phrases in her head, in Latin and Italian, to alert people to an emergency. After only five brief seconds of sorting, she decided on one specificly that she could both pronounce clearly and shout efficiently in a short amount of time. All that she needed to do now was get away from protective custody and find a weapon. Then, she could race back out to the streets and make her way to the central carnival. This seemed simple enough in her mind. She breathed deeply and hoped that she could keep her focus and determination just as her father did when everything seemed so chaotic. Ishmael met the captain before he could make his way to the bridge.

"Mr. Ishmael, escort Miss Quatermain to her father's room," he commanded. "Then get to the weaponry and be ready to launch a rocket at my signal."

"Aye, Captain," Ishmael said quickly. He motioned for Abigail to move ahead of him. The girl breathed deeply and nodded obediently to both men. It would not be casual courage that would grant her the opportunity to escape this time, it would be feigned cooperation. "This way, miss." Abigail stayed silent for a few moments. She noticed a slightly open door just ahead of him. This portion of the ship looked familiar now. She had been on board for three days and was now beginning to feel her way around the portion of the vessel with the stairwell, staterooms, and the dininghall. This door was large and dark and had always been closed when she had been nearby. This must have been the captain's study. She peered in for a moment and recognized the sight of a large Indian simitar on the wall. It appeared to be one of many weapons from this distance. Without a word, she darted into the room and looked around. "Hey!" Ishmael exclaimed as he raced after her. "You're not allowed in here, miss!"

Abigail forced her mind to work at light speed and convinced her limbs to do the same. In a flash, she noticed a sword that Dr. Kruschev had displayed in one of his cultural lectures on his travels. The man had been everywhere and, unlike many of his colleagues who had journeyed around the Orient to study ancient forms of alchemy, had been most impressed by Japan. This blade was long and wooden. It could not kill an enemy with just one blow, but it would definitely pack enough of a punch to deal unconsciousness. She grabbed it hurriedly and moved towards the door. Ishmael darted in front of her. She frowned and thought for less than a second. She remembered Mina saying that the skeleton key had belonged to the first mate. Had she returned it? She looked to the man's belt and noticed the keyring in an instant. She ducked and reached forward, snatching it quickly from his belt and shoving him firmly into the room. The man grunted and toppled over into the middle of the room as the door slammed shut. Abigail placed the key in the lock and firmly turned the object until she heard a triumphant click. Ishmael stood and began to protest loudly, banging on the doors and shouting.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Ishmael," she called through the door. "I'm sure someting good will come of this!" Abigail turned and breathed in as much serenity as she could in the midst of all the confusion. She made her way quickly back to the open panel and looked towards the path she would need to take to get to the carnival guests, tightly clutching the long, wooden blade. Nemo stood only a few feet from Jekyll shouting orders to the rest of the men to try and brace the ship before the automobile arrived at a target building. Abigail smiled at the momentary distraction and darted forward. A louder blast than before shook the ground, sending everyone reeling for several seconds. She frowned and steadied herself, using the sword for balance, as the rumbling of the stone beneath her began to cease once again.

"Do what you can, I need to get back to bridge and watch for their signal!" Nemo suddenly cried. Abigail breathed deeply and started forward. Her stomach sank and her blood began to quiver uneasily in her veins. She was frozen, something uncontrollable had overtaken her with the last explosion. She growled and shouted inwardly to herself to move forward. Nemo turned and noticed the girl instantly. "Abigail!"

She looked towards the men for a moment and thought of what would happen in the next few moments. The buildings would continue to collapse and begin destroying all the stone platforms around them. The carnival guests would all be killed if she and the others didn't hurry, and anyone still outside the Nautilus would die with them. She screamed loudly and found the strength to fly forward. Still grasping the sword as if it were a second arm, she raced through the buildings and towards the central carnival. Her legs burned with unnatural energy as she sped towards the alley ahead of her. There would be a few yards between herself and the despairing crowd, but that was time enough to rehearse her cry to help them. She felt the fire from her legs move upward, warming and soothing every nerve in her body. She knew exactly what she now had to do, and there was ample time. Jekyll noticed the girl just as she sped through the remnants of two buildings. He turned to Nemo in confusion.

"Was that Abigail?" he asked in shock.

"Yes," the captain said with irritation. He shouted to one of the men to head straight for the weapon's room to wait for his signal; Ishmael was obviously out of commission. He turned back to the physician with confusion and concern of a different sort on his face. "Was that my _kitana_?"

Abigail obeyed only her instinct. It was easier this way. She found it most amusing that the orders from her instinctive mind had no emotion to them at all, they seemed very focused. Perhaps it would be prudent to turn her empirical and emotional mind off when taking action from this point onward. Instinct was, by far, the most powerful state she had ever been in. In a blink, she found herself standing a few feet from the guests as they scattered this way and that. Some got too close to the water's edge but, screaming, managed to keep from falling in and drowning. Abigail heard a loud cracking sound and watched emotionlessly as the central building, the great capital structure, began to collapse before the entire crowd. The screams and desperation rose beyond anything Abigail had seen or felt on the savanna. That didn't matter now, though. Her instinct made things too clear to worry about the past or an unpleasant future. She drew in a deep breath and climbed on top of a large pile of rubble that now seemed safe. She cleared her throat and began to shout.

"Signores! Signores! Follow me! Hurry!" she shouted clearly and in perfect Italian. The crowd continued to cry and run aimlessly in every direction for a moment. Abigail continued to shout the same three phrases repeatedly and waited for a moment as the entire population of the carnival turned their attention to her. A young woman was simply standing before them, carrying a primitive little wooden sword and calling for everyone to follow her. All of this, the explosions and now the girl, seemed like a living nightmare. Abigail frowned. "I know a passage! Follow me and everyone be safe!" Without turning to see if anyone would follow, Abigail turned and began fleeing down the pathway she had been drawn to moments before. While she knew she was moving forward and had left the crowd standing at the piazza, she was now sure that she could hear a horde of frantic footsteps behind her. She smiled brightly. All the crowd had needed was direction. She turned and fled down a connective passageway, allowing her instinct to be her only guide. How simple this seemed. Now if only calling on one's instinct worked in deciding on a daily wardrobe. The fire that had burned through her body began to fade and a bitter cold began to cling to her body. She breathed deeply, trying to will away the chill as it overtook her.

She frowned and looked backwards, noticing that she had led the crowd a good hundred yards or so away from the explosions. Her ears rang loudly, but no other sounds seemed to be reaching her. The explosions must have stopped. She smiled and began to breathe more rapidly, feeling the need for more breath as she began to grow more cold. The crowd had turned and began to watch the dust settling while the roaring of the collapses ceased. Abigail felt herself moving backwards, unable to stop moving her feet all at once. She stumbled over a small stone and fell several feet downward to the ground, keeping the sword well abover her head so as to fully avoid injury at such a crucial time. She gave a small shout as she landed on a softer surface than the stone. Looking around carefully as minimal warmth began to return in the face of this new shock, Abigail realized that she was now sitting on soil and grass. There were the figures of trees and headstones around her. A sickening familiarity took her mind. This was holy ground, but it was terrifying to the average person. She breathed deeply and found the strength to grab hold of the trunk of the nearest tree. It suddenly registered that she had accomplished her goal. In one try she had done exactly what she had set out to do. _Not only you; the explosions have stopped. The others must have finished their tasks as well_, her mind added. She smiled and leaned against the tree, now feeling her grip on the kitana release ever so slightly. Suddenly, she heard a loud creaking behind her. She turned and noticed a chilling figure standing at the door to the cemetary. Her grip on the blade tightened with renewed fear and energy. She froze once again and felt her breath leaving in a wisp of terror. There, robed in fur and silver mask, stood the Fantom. Her mind buzzed furiously. She had been so absorbed in leading the others to safety that she hadn't been able to sense his presence. She frowned as he moved closer.

"At last," he rasped in broken German. "There you are, Abigail Quatermain!"


	16. Behind the Masque and Most of the Myster

**Chapter 16: Behind the Masque and Most of the Mystery**

Abigail breathed deeply and called all the strength that she could manage into her legs. She carefully moved her right hand behind her back, clutching the sword with resolve now to use it. She may not be able to do much damage to this man, but she would be able to incapacitate him enough to allow someone else to come and capture. She took one step backwards, slowly and deliberately, keeping her eyes fixed on the man as he reached one hand forward.

"Don't be afraid, child. Such a pretty little girl you are," he said soothingly. "And so clever. I saw you move the crowd to safety; what magnificent courage you have! Dr. Kruschev was right about you."

Abigail froze and felt her expression phase into curious concern at the mention of her friend. She breathed deeply and now seemed to be paying more attention to what the villain was saying rather than how he was moving.

"Yes and he told me all about you," he continued. "I can take you to him. Would you like that? He has missed you so." Abigail shook herself and centered back on the idea of capturing this man before he had the chance to do the same to her. If Dr. Kruschev had spoken of 'Wunderkraft' (which, judging by the list that Mr. Gray had carried, was true) and he had spoken of Abigail, then her father was correct in assuming that she would be in as much danger as any of the scientists themselves. She tightened her grip on the sword, still keeping it behind her as she made another small step backwards. "Just take my hand and we will go and see him. He will be so pleased to see you again. Would that make you happy?"

Abigail allowed the man to move forward until he was only three feet from her. She smiled timidly and watched as he lowered his own gaurd in reaching towards her. Abigail withdrew her right arm swiftly and grabbed the hilt of the wooden blade with the left hand as well. In a blink, she jammed the very end of the sword forcefully into the armour plating over the man's abdomen. Abigail heard him utter a loud grunt before he collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath. Abigail smiled brightly and took another step backwards. It was obvious that the man would be without the ability to stand and do her any harm for several minutes. She breathed a deep sigh of relief as she moved another step away from the scene of the writhing kidnapper. She felt a small fire begin to burn at the base of her spine as her back met with something other than the tree. She turned and gasped, being met by the same exasperation on another face.

"Abigail?" Allan said in shock. Abigail's smile faded as she looked up at her father. He narrowed his gaze at her. "What are you doing here?"

"Father, I . . ." she stammered.

"I told you to stay with the ship!" he shouted angrily.

"The people in the carnival would have been killed!" she argued.

"That is exactly why the rest of us were working quickly to rectify the situation," he corrected.

"I had to do something! I couldn't just stand by and let anything happen to them," she countered.

Allan frowned and drew in a deep breath, clearly wanting to specify that her service had been unnecessary. Before the man could speak a dagger flew past Abigail's head and landed firmly in the hunter's shoulder. Abigail cried out in horror and instinctively raced towards him to see about the wound. The Fantom's arms wrapped firmly around her shoulders as he began trying to drag her out of the cemetary. She shrieked in surprise and kept hold of the sword in front of her with both hands. She threw the end of the blade backwards, hitting him harshly in the face. He shouted in pain and tumbled to the ground once again. Abigail gasped and turned to see that he was out of commission, ready with the blade to ram him once more. Her eyes widened in surprise. The silver mask that had covered his face now lay several feet away from him. He frowned in irritation at the girl and reached towards his face, peeling away a layer of prosthetic skin that had acted as a secondary mask. Behind his daughter, Allan stared in surprise at the very man that had given the League the task of going after the Fantom, a member of the Ministry of Defense.

"You?" Allan breathed in exasperation.

The man smirked and climbed to his feet. "You don't know the half of it," he snarled.

Allan grunted in pain and grabbed the hilt of the dagger still protruding from his shoulder. He hurled it as hard as he could into the man as he turned to run back out the door. The dagger landed at the base of the man's left shoulder blade, but not harshly enough to keep him from disappearing onto the street again. Abigail frowned and started after him. Her father reached out quickly and grabbed hold of her sleeve, holding her tightly in place.

"Enough of your nonsense!" he shouted. She turned and glared at him. "You had no business leaving the vessel."

"I sensed that . . ." she began.

"You did not sense anything, Abigail!" he shouted. The girl froze and stared up at him. He sighed heavily. "You think you have some mystic power meant to save people; it's not true. You have a good judge of character, and that is all. You're no different or more blessed than anyone else who can decipher intentions. You are just a little girl, Abigail. You are not as strong as you think you are."

"Of course I'm as strong as I think I am! Everyone is!" she shouted at him firmly. Allan stared back with a look of sadness and anger surging together. "I'm just not as strong as you wish you were, or as frightened as you wish you weren't."

He frowned and stared down at the girl with a look of blank disbelief. He felt positively nude at having been so deciphered. His thoughts gathered and centered on one idea. Perhaps this was the very reason that he had tried to keep from seeing Abigail's gift as something to be taken more seriously than a simple hunch. He hadn't ever really considered the idea of someone being able to read his intentions. Allan was by no means a cad or lowlife, but he did have a secret from the world that he did not wish to be revealed: his own fear. He was a legendary hunter who had stared down rhinoceri and fought off lions. If someone were to think him afraid, or worse _know_ that he had been afraid, it would destroy the last shreds of purpose that had been left unscathed by selfish guilt. He sighed heavily and reached for Abigail. The girl turned quickly and sped past him towards the nearest canal. Allan darted after her, watching their surroundings more carefully than ever. It wasn't so much now that he feared the Fantom might return as it was the thought that someone had heard what had just been revealed. He watched as Abigail stopped at the water's edge and looked at it in disgust.

"What are you doing?" Allan demanded as he neared her.

"I'm going home! It's what you wanted in the first place, isn't it?" she snorted and looked back uneasily at the water. She gulped. "I am almost certain that if I start swimming now that I can be there by autumn's end."

"Well you're facing the wrong way to begin with," Allan corrected as he neared her. He pointed behind them for dramatic emphasis. "England's that way."

Abigail whirled around and drew in a deep breath. "_I __**hate**__ England_!" she shouted angrily. Allan stayed still as she quivered with a few laboured breaths and grasped both hands on the kitana in front of her to remain steady. "I hate it that I lived there, I hate it that mother is still there, I hate it that you never came for us there!"

"So do I! I hate . . ." Allan replied loudly and then trailed off for a moment. He cringed inwardly thinking of how fervently he had hated himself and been angry at Sarah for not hating him as well. Abigail shrank a fraction of an inch and stepped backwards, nearly reaching the very edge of the stone sidewalk. Allan quickly reached forward and grabbed her arm firmly, pulling her away from the rock just as a large loosened slab sunk into the canal, disappearing rapidly beneath the surface of the water. The two stared at each other in silence. The man breathed deeply and placed both hands on the girl's shoulders as he regained his own strength. While the wound on his shoulder would not be fatal, it was still quite painful for the time being. He sighed heavily and shook his head as he spoke softly. "I hate almost everything that has happened since . . . since your mother and I had that argument. I have hated myself to no end."

Abigail stared at her father in confusion. Her mother and father hadn't truly argued the night that Sarah had decided to leave. In fact, her parents hadn't been in what they considered a full argument since Harry had been alive. Sarah and Allan both had done their utmost to make sure that thier offspring knew the difference between arguing and fighting. Civillized married couples did both, but it was the animal kingdom that experienced fighting without the benefit of an argument. The one implied the use of reason and personally gathered information, the other was simply personal. She shifted for a moment and loosened her grip on the wooden blade.

"Almost everything?" she asked softly.

"Abigail, the past cannot be changed, it can never be changed, only learned from," he said more softly. "It would be juvenile to wish to undo everything and futile to try and redeem it. The only thing I do not hate about . . . all of this," he said waving a hand for emphasis, ". . . is that I can see more now than I did. I knew I could survive anything terrible and continue to exsist even with mortal wounds, but I had no idea that I wouldn't be able live, to thrive without something else making it complete. It was never meant to be something for any child to bear, but it did change the prideful old fool I'd become into a wiser man. It was an egregious mistake, but it's been a lesson as well. You should never have had to have known loss like that."

"It was meant to happen, father. Harry knew what was at risk, that was part of why he went," Abigail argued. "He would be mad with boredom at the lack of activity this League has seen."

He smiled. "I suppose so," he breathed. "There is still work to be done, Abigail and you are still not safe. Do you know what would happen to me if I lost you?"

She frowned and looked away, not wanting to answer. He sighed heavily, realizing that the girl knew the precise answer to the question. She slowly lifted her head back to look directly in his eyes. A sudden chill shot through her spine and stung at the base of her neck. She gripped the blade tightly and lifted it an inch. Something was about to happen. Allan furrowed his brow and turned to look behind him. As the old hunter turned, one of the Fantom's last henchmen came running out from one of the standing buildings. This one carried only a bayonet and ran shouting madly towards them. Allan noticed him just as he made it to the sidewalk. Abigail growled and knelt, sweeping upward to her right as she shouted back. The man cried out in pain, reeling backwards as the kitana's edge met with the left side of his head and jaw. Allan smiled and withdrew one one last pistol, firing a single bullet into the man's thigh. Abigail winced and watched her father grab the brute by the collar and heave him several feet through the air. The crowd would notice him with all the lamenting soon enough. He turned back towards her, feeling more alive with purpose and warmth than he had in years. He took Abigail by the arm and motioned towards the rest of the city.

"Well, now you've seen Venice," he said casually. "We'll have to get back to the others quickly. If the Fantom has been uncovered, then Gray might become all the more violent and obvious. There's no telling what will happen or what has happened to everyone else."

"I'm not sure I should go back," Abigail said biting her lip nervously. Allan gave her a look of bewilderment as he led them swiftly back towards the Nautilus.

"Why not?" he asked.

"This is Nemo's sword," she explained. "I expect he'll be a little cross with me for having left like that."

"No doubt," Allan replied as they walked hurriedly.

"And having taken the sword," she continued as they rounded the corner. Allan laughed silently at thinking of all the layers of mayhem that must have ensued upon Abigail's escape. "And then I . . ."

"Locked the first mate in a room that should have been forbidden to you, you troublemaker!" Ishmael said angrily as he approached. Allan gave the man a look of more than disapproval. He frowned and shook his head. "No real harm done, city's safe and all that. No one's returned yet, well, you have now. The captain sent me off in Miss Quatermain's direction with orders to retrieve her and anyone else that belongs on board."

"That was responsible," Allan remarked as he moved past the man. Abigail remained standing in front of the weathered sailor, hesitant to do anything further. She looked up at him sheepishly and held the blade out for him.

"That's not mine, miss," he corrected and motioned towards the ship. She frowned and began walking hurriedly to where her father now stood beside Jekyll, trying to explain the situation. "You're lucky the captain's taken a shine to you to begin with or he'd probably use it."

"I am sorry, Mr. Ishmael," she said softly. "Really, I am."

"You did what you had to," he muttered uneasily. Abigail wondered, by his tone, whether he was speaking to her or to himself. She looked around carefully and heard footsteps approaching. She smiled. Mina walked quickly towards her.

"How did you fair?" she asked smiling brightly.

"The guests were safe," Abigail replied flatly. "The rest of it will be dealt with now I suppose."

"I wouldn't fret over it if I were you," Mina added as they moved towards the men already gathered to briefly discuss what had happened. "You had a display all your own that did not go unnoticed."

"The Fantom is M, that man from the Ministry of Defense, the very man that recruited us," Allan said as he grasped his shoulder in pain. Jekyll moved towards him, trying to examine the wound. The hunter waved him aside.

"How is that possible?" Nemo asked, worriedly grabbing the hilt of his own sword.

"We'll get our answers. We should regroup on board and wait for the others," Allan said firmly. He turned back to the remnants of the city and frowned. "Mr. Gray hasn't returned?"

"I told you we should have kept a better hold on that situation," Mina said softly. He shook his head and watched more closely. "He will most likely be giving a report of his own. No one knows where Skinner is, either."

"And Sawyer?" Allan asked. Abigail's heart leapt. She suddenly realized that her father had been seperate from the group that he had left with. Mina had returned on her own as well. Mr. Gray was obviously not going to stay with his team, but where on earth was Sawyer? She frowned. Had he been caught up fighting more of the henchmen? He had seemed to be unstoppable at the flat in London, but any battles here would be more difficult. She felt a sickening whir inside her chest at thinking some sort of harm might have come to him. A small voice of reason made itself known at the back of her mind. If something had happened to Sawyer, it reasoned, then surely at least you would have sensed it. "Did the boy make it back?"

"Oh, he'll live to fight another day," the youth replied as he appeared from behind a pile of rubble not far away. Abigail turned towards the sound of his voice and sighed heavily with relief as she darted towards him, still unwittingly carrying the sword. Sawyer grinned and then stared at her uneasily as she approached. "Run into something unpleasant, Miss Abigail?"

She thought for a moment, then remembered the sword. She shook her head and reached out to him, wrapping both arms around him tightly and dropping the sword in the process. He smiled and placed both arms around her, though not as firmly. She breathed deeply and looked up into his face. She frowned. Lifting one hand to his face, she brushed away a tuft of sandy hair and noticed a large gash, bright red with fresh blood, streaked across his brow. She gasped and pulled away, quickly grabbing his hand and swiftly picking up the kitana once again.

"You were hurt!" she exclaimed. "What happened?"

He shook his head as they made their way back to the Nautilus' entrance. "It was nothing," he said. "Just a scratch. Nothing I couldn't handle. Wish I could say the same for Nemo's automobile. Seems to be a little beyond repair at the moment."

Abigail smiled brightly at the boy as they moved into the ship. A figure moved between the two and the proper entrance, blocking their way. Abigail frowned and took a step backwards as Nemo crossed his arms and stared at the two. He lifted one brow reprovingly at the girl and then turned to Sawyer.

"I take it that the vehicle is still at the target building?" he asked with suppressed agitation.

"Under it actually," Sawyer offered with a nod."Couldn't be avoided, sir. I do apologize for the loss."

"The automobile can be reconstructed," Nemo replied. He reached forward and firmly took the kitana from Abigal, looking it over carefully for any damages. "A hand-carved feudal kitana that served to train one of the Samurai of a Shogun in the twelfth century, however, can_ not_."

Abigail breathed deeply. "I am very sorry for taking the sword without asking, sir," she said with all due humility. He continued to stare at her, waiting for the remnant of her apology. She frowned. The end did not justify the means, but it did give one good reason to not look back at them. People would have died if she had not disobeyed, but that did not remove any wrong in her actions. She would simply have to start reasoning with people more firmly before she did what she knew was necessary. She straightened herself and cleared her throat. "It could have been avoided, but it would have had disastrous results for the people in the carnival. I am sorry that I . . . well, ran off, but I am pleased with what it accomplished." Abigail waited a moment, noting that the Indian remained standing and that the rest of the group had gathered behind them, also waiting. "I am sorry, that won't happen again."

"I doubt it will be necessary again," Nemo replied with a wink. He turned to enter the ship ahead of the team. Allan turned and looked back towards the city one last time. Gray had been cautious enough to keep the objects he'd taken a secret from most everyone else; why would he be so concerned about escaping now when he still needed the formula? The ship lurched to the side as a loud groaning sound of metal scraping against metal filled the air. Nemo and the rest turned back towards the exit, racing to the edge.

"What is that?" Jekyll asked.

"The sound of treachery!" the captain replied angrily. He and the others watched as a large bauble that had been enclosed in the face of an idol suddenly sprang to life with lights and began to move itself away from the ship. "The Nautiloid, my exploration pod!"

Abigail stood uneasily as another wave of cold moved through her. The smaller vessel dropped into the water and floated for a moment in front of the group. An eye of steel opened over one of the windows, revealing Dorian sitting at the controls with a wicked look of satisfaction on his face. He waved casually and grasped the controls, easing the ship out to open water.

"Can we track him?" Allan asked quickly.

"I mean to catch them," Nemo corrected. "Everyone on board and into the conference room. There are things left to be done!"

Abigail turned swiftly, following after the others as if there was no resistance of gravity beneath her. Something still felt odd aboard the ship, something still had the aura of evil. The impulses did not seem to be coming from any person. In fact, all of the people around her seemed as frightened and concerned as was to be expected. She frowned and stood still a moment, glancing around the hallway outside of the navigation room adjoining to the bridge. Something inanimate and dangerous lingered on board, something that had been set by the evil that she had sensed around Mr. Gray. Perhaps the evil that had once wronged him was now lying in wait for them and it was most definitely meant to cause more than just harm.


	17. Past and Present Danger

**Chapter 17: Past and Present Danger**

The group walked swiftly behind the focused captain and first mate. They entered the main meeting room where a large replica of the globe, etched in silver and laying in an alcove on the wall just large enough to allow it to spin, moved slowly into position while two prongs acted as arrows to two locations. Nemo pointed to the globe, not turning to the team behind him. He breathed deeply.

"That is us," he explained motioning to the first prong. "The other is the Nautiloid. As you can see, the vessel is the epitome of speed," he said with deep pride stemming from his anger. "We will be upon them shortly."

Ishmael took a map from a nearby shelf and laid it out over the table at the centre of the room. Quatermain and Nemo began looking over it carefully as Nemo reached into one of the table's compartments and withdrew a protractor. Abigail found a position in a far corner of the room, staring uneasily into space as she went over what could be on board and just how she could alert Nemo without distracting them from their task of stopping Dorian and the Fantom. Mina watched her cautiously and felt a terrible ache move through her. Like Abigail, she had just experienced a horrific revalation in Dorian. She had always been suspicious of the youth, especially in joining the League after the strange attack in his flat. Now it was obvious that there would be no future for the two immortals; Dorian was everything she feared she would become. She turned towards Abigail and frowned. The girl seemed more deep in thought than anyone else. Sawyer looked back and forth between the two. Abigail was distracted and, as had been his experience in times past with women trying to solve a problem, he felt it best to let her contemplate silently a few seconds more. He turned to Mina.

"You alright?" he asked softly. Mina smiled forceably and pushed a few unruly strands of red hair behind her high collar.

"Just a little shaken," she replied. He nodded and walked towards Abigail.

"Miss Abigail," he began. She shook her head slowly and closed her eyes for a moment. "It's alright, they won't hurt anyone else now and we can get the location of your friend out of them."

"That isn't the question at hand, Mr. Sawyer," she corrected in a pensive tone. "I feel that . . . " Her voice trailed off into a groan of pain as she clapped her hands over her ears. The rest of the occupants of the room did the same as an unusually high-pitched screeching began to grow louder. Sawyer placed his arms defensively around the girl as the noise became unbearable. A crewman carrying a small envelope with a metal block on its surface, raced into the room just as the screeching ceased. Everyone turned to the man as he bowed and handed the envelope quickly to Nemo.

"The noise was caused by this, Captain," he said as he panted.

"A recording disk?" Nemo asked in confusion as he accepted the envelope.

He turned to Ishmael and snapped his fingers once in the air. The man nodded and opened a cabinet in the wall at the farthest end, taking a Grahamaphone from the cabinet and quickly setting it on the table for the disk. The remaining League and Abigail gathered around the table to listen. Nemo pulled the large black disk from the envelope and examined it for a moment. It seemed harmless enough. The enemy couldn't very well poison them or fire a weapon using simply a disk. He quickly set the record-player in motion and set the disk in place. Quatermain and the others felt a small sense of amazement at the amount of modern technology, even in something as frivolous as a record-player, that lay hidden and obvious on this vessel. He stepped backwards after setting the needle over the disk. A moment later, the voice of the Fantom, now calling himself M once again, began to play clearly from the record. He detailed the fact that he had tricked each member into his service in order to duplicate the powers of Mina, Jekyll, and Nemo. Allan felt a small rush of relief at not hearing any plans for Abigail or her friend's formula.

"He's stolen us," Jekyll said softly. He could almost clearly hear Hyde laughing at him for not being more of a man in stopping the traitor. "He's taken what strengths we had, and we let him."

Sawyer turned to the player and released his grip on Abigail. He looked down at her for a moment, trying to think of something to do that would assure him that she was well. Abigail frowned and moved away from him, standing back in a position near her father.

"He likes the sound of his own voice, doesn't he?" Sawyer remarked as he folded his arms angrily in front of him. A tiny screech, nearly the same tone as the one that had sounded before, began to sting in the girl's ears. He looked to the side, glancing at Abigail as she leaned against her father, obviously trying to ignore something painful. He straightened and faced her more fully. "Miss Abigail?"

At the same moment, Jekyll grunted in pain and squinted against the screeching that was ringing in his ears as well. The physician told himself that it was an automatic response of his senses trying to make some sort of reason from the odd noise that it had just attacked him.

Mina looked towards the doctor in concern. "Are you alright?" she asked.

"My ears hurt, it's nothing," he said quickly.

Abigail was becomming too overwhelmed to notice the doctor's behaviour or Mina's acknowledgement of the whole thing in asking him what was happening to him. She breathed deeply, forcing the thought that she was sensing a weapon and was helpless to do anything to stop it, out of her mind. The sound burned like fire in the backs of her eyes and within her ears, building pressure and heat as if it were feeding some sort of steam engine in her central nervous system. She groaned and tried to ignore it, realizing that for the moment it was more emotional than physical. She must have been experiencing some sort of reaction from the excitement and sound. Dorian's voice joined the Fantom's. Abigail felt nausea join the pain and burning.

_This is the weapon!_ her mind shouted. _Do something! Destroy it!_ She shook herself. She must have been mistaken; there was no logical way that the disk could be a weapon. If nothing else, her feelings and premonitions had always been logical in some right. She felt the same stinging cold in her spine that she had felt before taking action in Venice. Grasping her head tightly, she leaned against the table, as the pain and screeching resounded mercilessly through her entire being. She groaned and tried to focus inwardly on what was causing the disturbance. Surely there wasn't anything outwardly wrong or the rest of the group would be suffering as well. She grunted and squeezed her eyes shut tightly, blocking anything but her own breath for the time being. Allan frowned and pulled her to him, trying both to comfort his his child and decipher what on earth M was playing at.

Jekyll now noticed the girl, shortly joined by the rest. All of the group half listened to the confession of the Fantom of his plans, intentions, and actions, as they watched Abigail, ready to assist in any way possible. She suddenly felt a sharp pain rip through her chest, her breathing growing more rapidly by the second. Goblets of Austrian crystal laid on one of the end tables in the room began to quiver and hum. Jekyll frowned and turned to Mina who was coming to the same conclusion, but neither were sure how to piece it together to form something that would explain the situation. The voice of M on the recording disk casually stated that his game of creating and exploiting the League had come to an end, their end. The rest of the League turned uneasily towards the disk, still standing around the table. The man revealed, with malicious joy, that a secondary layer of sound was currently being heard around the ship. The sound was on a frequency too high for average humans, it was meant for smaller animals and objects. Jekyll's eyes went wide. He turned towards the nearby mirror on the wall and saw the image of his alter ego. Hyde usually manifested himself in reflective surfaces when he needed to speak with the doctor, if one could call it speaking. The monster in the reflection howled in pain and begged his present state of being to make the sound cease. He narrowed his eyes and a theory that was occurring to all present who understood even a modicum of the science of sound and were not incapacitated by the noise, reached his mind. He turned slowly back to the record-player and gasped.

"This sound will activate delicate crystal sensors," M's voice explained with an audible grin.

"Sensors attached to bombs," Dorian added. The League and crewmen still present, displayed a collective look of horror as Abigail shrieked and arched her back forward, seeming to be as tormented as a small animal at the mercy of an endless dog-whistle. Allan frowned and quickly took Abigail in his arms, standing her in front of him while keeping a firm hold on her. His instincts were in full swing once again. The League stood and turned to the record-player in shock. Nemo raced forward, hoping madly to end the carnage before it had a chance to claim any of his loyal crewmen or fellow teammates. He reached the device just as Dorian's voice gave a few last words. "Bomb voyage."

The Indian hurled the object to the floor, destroying the player and shattering the recording disk in the process. Mina's eyes widened at feeling the atmosphere charge with emotional electricity. Nemo had acted too late; the bombs were already activated. Explosions began to sound loudly from several corners of the ship. The vessel lurched to the side, flinging all members of the League and the crew, reeling and scrambling as the floor rocked with the force of a typhoon. Allan braced himself in a defensive stance and clutched Abigail against his chest. The girl was sure she could hear the screech fading into nothing as darkness began to cloud her vision. She breathed heavily, commanding her senses to heighten past the moment. She knew that she was beyond doing anything to help her father and the League at the moment. She screamed inwardly, hoping that it would relieve her mind and not reach the ears of anyone else. Unfortunately for the rest of the group present, Abigial's hope was in vain. The ship rocked violently, throwing objects and furniture right and left. Lighting and other fixtures shattered in places, spraying electricity and heat from frayed wiring. Nemo appeared to be a combination of infuriated and terribly wounded emotianally by this attack on his vessel. He quickly headed towards the farthest end of the room, leading directly into the bridge with Ishmael not far behind. The rest of the members raced towards the bridge, Allan still clutching Abigail as she began to cry out in terror. She grabbed hold of her father's vest tightly and frantically began to try and get a look at anything that could be done to preserve them Unfortunately, this was yet another instance where she was merely a girl and could only watch the professionals at work. Nemo grasped the helm furiously, shoving a crewman aside with uncharacteristic force.

"Out of the way!" he shouted.

Allan and the others took hold of whatever was present and able to keep them in position as the ship began to tilt backwards, descending into the deep ocean as if being swallowed. Allan breathed deeply as Abigail clung to him.

"We have to surface!" he yelled.

"We're taking in too much water, the controls aren't responding!" Nemo shouted back as he used every ounce of strength to keep hold of the wheel.

One of the crewman entered and grabbed hold of the wall as he shouted a status report. "The primary engine room is almost full, the aft bulkhead is open!" he yelled. "The pump valves are jammed!" Nemo turned to the man briefly.

"Then seal it off!" he ordered.

"But there are still men in there!" he added. Nemo turned more fully, hiding a look of remorse with firmness.

"For the greater good we must seal it off!" he shouted once again. "It is the only way!"

Abigail grasped the sides of her head and let out a piercing scream before becoming very still in her father's arms. Her limbs went limp as she breathed deeply and managed to lift her head to stare into nothing. Jekyll noted this and looked towards Allan as water began to spray into the room.

"The pressure is building as we descend! She won't be the only like that in a few moments if we don't do something," Mina yelled. Everyone looked at one another in horror. Abigail's face suddenly became lit with peace and serenity for a moment. A memory that had taken the span of days began to fill her mind in a flash. She breathed deeply and stared straight ahead as darkness moved over her vision. Sawyer looked at her in utter confusion.

"Abigail?!" he cried.

--

"Abigail," Sarah's voice called through the darkness. Abigail slowly opened her eyes and saw her mother standin over her. She was dressed as if about to embark on one of the excursions into the wild. The woman smiled kindly and reached down to the girl, lifting her easily into her arms. Abigail frowned for a moment, collecting all the facts at hand. This was not present activity, it must have been a memory. The woman walked towards a waiting covered cart that held supplies for both herself and her husband. Abigail felt the warmth of the early morning sun in Africa begin to kiss her skin gently. She smiled and breathed happily at this memory. "This is going to be an awkward set up, but we always manage, don't we my darling? We're almost there, only a day more to go."

Abigail's eyes widened in realization. This was the morning that her family had arrived in Tsavo. The relations with the Masai were at stake. The sacred Tana river was being used by poachers and smugglers from an group of organized criminals. In the same boma, or village, that her father was supposed to go to gather information and a guide before heading after the fiends, was a legendary creature. Stories of an enormous and ancient white lion that lived in the nearby caves had reached north of the settlement where they lived in Nairobi and far to the south of the dark continent. The lion was said to be one of the last living spirits that had created the planet, specifically the spirit of Africa's untamable nature. The lion was not accustomed to leaving the cave to hunt on a regular basis. People that used the sacred river as transportation were said to have been sized and used to feed the beast. Criminals caught trying to escape justice in the wilds of Africa were also rumoured to find themselves being served to the lion. On occasion, it was said that there were signs that the creature required one of their own to feast on came to the shaman. Usually, it was assumed that the ancient being slept for months or years depending on the needs of its corporeal host. The lion needed to be sustained, but the spirit that lived within him was without such physical needs. The Masai believed that the spirit of their people could be preserved past the invasion of the British as long as the lion remained alive and appeased. This excursion called for Allan to apprehend criminals that had stolen a great deal of art or jewelry from the aristocracy. Sarah had felt this a perfect opportunity to document the life of the Masai living near this fable. Perhaps there really was a lion of somekind that had set up permanent residence for himself and a stationary pride that lived unseen in the caves. The lion was called Kwasa'uti, and was said to have been pure white, quite an anomaly for the species.

Documentation of this abnormality would be worth an enormous amount of new study in zoology and African culture as well as payment for the knowledge acquired and sent back to the London school which had educated Sarah. The only problem would be keeping her husband, a well-noted big game hunter, from killing any large animals in sight. Lions were dangerous, no doubt, but the sight of one did not immediately spell death as Allan believed it did. She sighed heavily and set her three year old daughter in the cart, settled snugly beside her brothter. At eighteen, the boy already had his father's intensity in his eyes, but his mother's soft face. Sarah imagined that Allan's first wife, Beatrice, had been quite gorgeous simply by seeing the boy. Allan and the child had no photographs whatsoever of the woman. Something that he had been quick to do after marrying Sarah. Harry looked down at his baby sister for a moment and then towards his step-mother.

"Are you sure that the Masai will allow us to stay with them?" he asked in concern.

"They aren't hostile," Sarah explained as she climbed into the cart. She reached into her satchel and fished out a hand-written guide book of the Masai language. "Your father will be meeting with a guide that will take him to the most likely locations for the thieves. I'm sure, from past experience, that the rest of the people of the village will have no qualms with us staying with them a while. We will just have to be very open to learning a few things from them while there and do our utmost not to offend. That shouldn't be too difficult."

"As long as father doesn't do something ridiculous," Harry groaned as he looked through his own satchel. Here, he kept the supplies needed to chronicle every one of his father's adventures that he had been alive for as well as the stories of the ones that had occurred before his birth. "He has a talent for firing off the rifle or his mouth at the wrong moment."

"There's nothing wrong with taking a few chances, Harry," Allan corrected as he climbed in beside Sarah and looked out towards the horizon. "You might try getting a feel for really experiencing the land before it's overtaken entirely."

Harry frowned and looked at his father reproachfully. In these developmental years, the boy was having a rebellious stage of revelations. "The land is being overtaken because of people stripping it of its natural beauties; its animals, peoples, and farmless lands. The empire is doing a grand job of destroying Africa," the boy retorted. Allan frowned at the boy and felt natural male defensiveness rising. "You're one of the many tools they're using to do it."

"Then perhaps you should weasel your way into the parliament and change that," Allan replied. Sarah sighed and looked uncomfortably at the two. "Weasels and rats are, after all, the primary constitution of the empire's higher-ups."

"Better a weasel or a rat than a great, braying . . ." Harry began to add. Sarah broke the sentence before Abigail could hear the final portion.

"When the two of you are kindly finished displaying your differences, then perhaps we might go over some of the vocabulary we'll need in the village," she said quickly. She suddenly noticed that Abigail was watching excitedly over the edge of the cart, leaning dangerously over the railing. She frowned and moved to set the book in her hands to the side. Harry looked beside him and smiled. Abigail had their father's spirit, but still had the innocence needed to keep it from becomming a violent need for thrills. He quickly placed both hands under her arms and set her in his lap, wrapping his arms around her as he looked back towards Sarah. She breathed and smiled brightly. "Thank you, Harry. With her fearlessness, I could almost swear that one of these days she's going to jump right in to a lion's mouth."

"You don't really believe that you're going to find an albino lion wandering around the caves and dealing out justice for the village, do you?" Harry asked as he watched Abigail patting his hands playfully.

"There is some sort of creature that the locals believe is a lion in those caves. The stories have traveled far from the village. That's unusual for a small, and rather insignificant, settlement," Sarah explained. "I'm not sure what I'll find, but I know that there will be a great number of men in the civilized world wanting to read all about it. It's the opportunity of a lifetime. I've wondered these past few days if it might be the final surviving creature of a species from centuries ago."

"No animal could survive for that long," Allan corrected. "Humans are at the top of the food chain for a reason."

"If you're at the top, then why are you carrying a gun?" Harry said. Allan narrowed his eyes.

"Because a man takes all precautions necessary to defend his family and property," the man replied firmly. Sarah shook her head as she opened the book. "It's a lesson best learned without a personal example."

Harry said nothing further and concentrated on watching the scenery moving past them. He and Abigail quoted off the words for tree, elephant, gazelle, giraffe, water, cloud, and several others in both English and Swahili. The journey took the better part of the day, finding the family and the two other men on the expedition arriving shortly before total darkness had spread over the landscape. Abigail's eyes were still wide open, too excited to be even close to ready to sleep at the moment. As the cart came to a halt outside the reed wall of the boma, a large man came walking towards them accompanied by two men that appeared to be from the village. Allan climbed off the cart and motioned for his family to stay put. He approached the large Nubian man with a nod. The man looked worriedly towards the great white hunter.

"Mr. Quatermain?" he asked uneasily. Allan smiled.

"Yes, and you must be our guide," he said happily.

"My name is Obaa," the man replied quickly. "You are late."

Allan frowned. "It took longer than expected to gather supplies and others to assist. I doubt that the criminals have ventured too far away for us to deal with," Allan said motioning back towards the cart. "Is something wrong?"

"Not wrong, just not as planned. Your men cannot enter the village tonight," the man explained. Allan stared at the guide in confusion, ready to ask for an explanation. "There was unrest last night. Kwasa'uti entered the village and sought for blood he could not find."

Allan's expression fell. His eyes widened in horror at now thinking Sarah really would be going after something just as dangerous as he was; the creature was real. "It attacked the village?" Allan asked worriedly.

"No, he roamed through the village and angrily cried out to the men for a new vessel," he explained. "He has grown weary of the caves, the shaman Kovu says it is time for our people and our guardian to move on."

"That must be uncomfortable for all of you," Allan remarked. He turned back to the cart as he heard the sound of someone walking towards him. Sarah moved to his side. "You and the children need to turn back."

"What? Why?" Sarah said in disbelief.

"That lion you're after is currently on a rampage," Allan said softly, hoping to keep any details directly from the native away from the woman. If Sarah thought that the animal was in distress, then she would risk life and limb to go after the beast and treat whatever was ailing it. She frowned.

"Allan, it's too late in the evening to turn back," she countered. "Besides, there's no . . ."

"I have brought two men with me; we have elected to stay with you and your men until morning," Obaa interjected. "I was not aware you were bringing a woman."

"Obaa, this is my wife, Sarah," Allan explained proudly. He had no reason to apologize for forgetting his manners. There was no need for silly things like apologies here, only remorse for evils committed. "She is here to speak with the village about the beast. The world beyond Africa wishes to know about anything as striking as this appears to be."

Obaa frowned. "The sacred spirits of our past are not meant for those who do not have respect for our people. The shaman will not allow knowledge of our ancestors to pass on to just anyone," the man said firmly. "Kwasa'uti is the last of the great spirits on earth. The conquest of the outsiders will not take the last sacred mystery from us."

"But the information that has been shared with our people encourages understanding and respect for your people," Sarah argued. Allan looked sadly at the natural diplomat beside him. "Besides, if the creature is restless then perhaps it is suffering from . . ."

A loud, resounding roar like thunder broke the conversation and caused all men present, save Allan himself, to cover their ears and cry out. Sarah grasped her husband's arm tightly and turned back towards the cart. Harry had pulled Abigail, who looked excitedly at her surroundings, to his chest protectively. Allan frowned and breathed deeply as Obaa and the two men beside him stared back at the caves beyond the village. He moved Sarah a few inches away from him and took Matilda up in both hands. He strode calmly through the darkening landscape and positioned himself directly in front of the highest part of the caves. His blood froze instantly as a flash of white caught his attention. This creature was massive, abnormally large for any feline he had ever encountered. The creature stopped and stared at him intently. Allan had always been keen with a weapon, but it was little known to others that he could sense when an animal truly meant to attack. If an animal had not intended harm at all, he had done his best in the past to simply move away from the beast, even on commissioned hunts. The desire to preserve animal life had grown more and more dull over the years of being called on to kill man and beast alike; still, the natural drive to protect the innocent remained even if it meant forgoing a large trophy. He met the gaze of the distant lion with calm examination. The animal was obviously doing the same. The two stayed perfectly still at the odd distance and simply stared. The creature appeared to be a lion, pure white as the legend had said, with unusually piercing blue eyes. It's tail hung proudly and casually behind it, not swaying a centimeter in agitation for the time being. Allan smirked at realizing there might have been a measure of respect from the beast for him. The lion lifted its head and seemed to frown. Allan did not believe in the preternatural, but for some queer reason was sure that he could hear a voice in the back of his mind telling him that it was not respect, but pity and something else that resembled a plea. He shook his head as the lion grunted and strode back into the series of caves. Obaa, his two companions, and the two men along on the excursion suddenly appeared behind him.

"Did you see it?" one of the assistants asked in exasperation. Allan sighed heavily.

"Yes," he said softly.

"And?" Obaa asked in concern. Allan lowered the rifle and turned to the Nubian guide.

"That is no mere lion," he replied.

Back at the cart, Abigail and Harry looked out towards the reed wall surrounding the village.

"Is that where we're going?" Abigail asked as she pointed.

"Yes, it is," Harry replied. "That's where the Masai have lived for many generations, hundreds of years."

"That's a lot," Abigail added as she turned to look in another direction. "They liked it?"

"It's their home," Harry said with a tone of sadness. His eyes suddenly widened in realization of the girl's words. He turned to his younger sister, staring up at the sky emotionlessly. "At least it was."

Sarah made her way to the cart quickly and looked over her daughter and stepson. She breathed a sigh of relief and then called for the assistants to come and help set up a small camp for the night. Harry looked at the woman in surprise.

"Why do we need a campsite?" he asked.

"The village won't open the barrier until morning," she explained. "I think they're rather afraid of this spirit of theirs."

"Will it be safe for us?" the boy added looking towards the mountainous caves with apprehension. Sarah smiled warmly.

"Your father and the men will be able to handle any unpleasantries," she reassured. "Besides, if the worst happens we've always been able to make due."

"I just hope that the thieves don't try to act first this time," Harry muttered as he looked back down towards Abigail. "What did you see, Abigail?"

The girl frowned and shook her head as she climbed off of her brother. Allan walked slowly back to the cart and looked up at his son firmly.

"You three stay in the cart, the rest of us will be fine on the ground," he said. Sarah frowned and set down the folded blanket she had been struggling with. She leaned towards him as he spoke softly. "Something isn't right."

"Allan that ground will be freezing after the sun goes down," Sarah argued. "What has you all ruffled?"

"That boma is too quiet, Sarah," he replied in a whisper. "Something has happened here, something terrible. I'll have a look around after the men are asleep. If anything happens, I trust you to take the reigns and head back for Nairobi."

"Allan, perhaps there's another explanation," the woman reasoned.

"Just do as I ask," he said in a tone that required both silence and immediate action. Sarah frowned sat back against the side of the cart. Harry frowned and looked towards his step-mother with irritation.

"Well, I suppose it's only a few more hours in here then," she said as she continued to unfold the blanket. She motioned for Harry and Abigail to join her as she leaned against the back of the drivers' seats. "Try to get some rest, both of you."

"Is father staying in the village alone?" Harry asked uneasily.

"No; I'm afraid the village is a tad unwelcoming at the moment. We'll have to wait until morning to sort all of this out," Sarah explained. Harry shook his head and crossed his arms, sitting upright and watching the sky that shone through the edge of the canvas covering. "Your father will be alright."

"He's not the one I'm worried about," Harry said with a shudder. "Father's always come home alive. Others haven't."

Sarah sighed heavily and pulled the boy close to her, wrapping both children in the blanket and then around herself, bringing together as much warmth and comfort as she could for all of them. Allan was right, something was wrong, but not with the village or the lion. Allan looked up at the horizon uneasily. There would be no trying to negotiate anything or start something big until the sun rose once again. He sighed heavily and sat against the side of the cart, propping his hat upward so that he could still have a good peripheral view of the caves and the landscape. That creature was enormous. The village seemed far too quiet especially after the attack that had been reported. He muttered to himself and loaded Matilda in preparation. The next day would be difficult enough. He stared uneasily from the cart to the caves every few minutes all night. He was sure that by the time orange had begun to streak the sky that his heightened senses were dulled to that of the average human. The men assisting him were fast asleep several feet away as were Obaa and his two men. He sighed heavily and stood as silently as possible. That village had been silent all evening and not a single line of smoke could be seen over the reed wall. No fires, no sound; this was all wrong. Allan stood carefully and walked quietly to the farthest wall of the village. There was an entrance near the base of the caves themselves. He turned back to the silent form of the cart and the sleeping persons around it. He wouldn't be gone for long and there was nothing nearby to do any harm to his family. He approached the door to the reed wall apprehensively.

Allan cautiously grasped the carved handle on the outer wall, pulling it firmly towards him in a fluid sweep. He held back a cry and stared in horror at the boma. The village was silent and smoldering. Bodies of the villagers lay scattered about the entire dwelling in various positions as if having been attacked suddenly and slain instantly. The majority of the children were still in the doorways of their huts with the women lying strewn in front of them. The men must have been hit with the forefront of the attack since there were less of them to be recognized in the central dwelling. Allan stood in total silence for a moment, desperately trying to keep from retching at this sight. The wounds were all from bullets, not from the lion. No creature fashioned by nature had done this travesty, it was a creature fashioned by greed and indulgence. He breathed deeply and closed the door to the wall once again. He needed to get his associates to help him do the people justice and set the entire settlement on fire. He frowned and reached into his uppermost pocket, retrieving two bullets. He placed them in his rifle and calmed himself. It was more than obvious that Obaa was not a guide sent by the village to help apprehend criminals, he had helped destroy his own village. Helped was the operative word, though. There were still murderers on the loose, but who and where they were was still a mystery. Why hadn't that blasted oversized cat done something to defend the people that had done their utmost to defend him? He shook his head as he readied to hunt down the murderers and defend his family. It had been a mistake to bring Sarah and the children along, at least for the moment it was. Perhaps he could get the upperhand and do what the men of the village could not. A cold shiver ran through the hunter as he heard the familiar sound of a gun cocking behind him.

"Hello, Allan," a man's voice rasped from behind him. Allan sighed and turned around slowly. "Have any trouble finding the place?"

"Victor Wellsby," Allan said with a half smile. "You look about the same as the last time we met and I won. I thought that you were in prison."

"Oh, I was mate," Victor replied with a laugh and a rotted grin. "On me way to Australia, as a matter of fact. Funny thing about boats, you know. They travel on the sea, all that water, leads to everywhere if you just know how to swim."

"And what did you have to gain by slaughtering an entire village of innocent people?" Alan asked as he stepped away from the man, ready to lift his own rifle in an instant. Victor raised his own weapon several inches and glared happily at the hunter.

"I wouldn't try anything foolish if I was you," Victor cautioned. Allan felt his stomach sink several feet more as his two associates and family were escorted behind Victor by Obaa and his two men. Three other men, obviously criminals assisting Victor, stood around the small group as well all with weapons at the ready. "It was easy enough to take every one of the sorry peons out from above with these caves here. Had Obaa and his to distract the old pelt wandering around the place whilst we helped ourselves. Do you realize just how much loot that mangy old cat had in his lair from years of killing smugglers and poachers? We'll go back for the rest after it's sure that he won't come after us. That's where you come in, old chap. We'll make ourselves a handsome life in London after we're done killing the man what sent me to prison in the first place."

Abigail felt the vision of the past begin to vibrate with the pounding of her heart, still able to hear the shouting of the men on the ship around her at the present while the memory continued to play in a distinguishable flash. It was odd how the mind could move things so quickly and still register them, but it needed the world to move slowly to take in new information. She breathed deeply as the sight of her father confronting Obaa, who admitted to helping kill his own tribe so that he could gain the means to drive the empire out of Africa entirely (namely in freeing the spirit of Kwasa'uti by killing the lion), played out in a matter of seconds. Her father had faught with the men for only a moment before Victor had raised a rifle to Sarah and spat out a series of wicked threats. Abigail remembered feeling as desperate then as she those around her did at the moment. The air itself seemed to be alive with anxiety so powerful that, if harnessed, it might have powered the Nautilus more than a week's worth of sunlight ever could have. She remembered feeling terrified for her mother, but then hearing a strange noise. It wasn't as if a voice were calling her name, but it seemed as though she knew she had been summoned. She turned her head and looked towards the caves beyond the boma. The noise sounded again, clearer, and she darted off towards it. Something was calling to her, something that could offer her family the help that they needed. Sarah screamed loudly, unable to take hold of her child before the girl raced from the scene. The men nearby had been equally unable, and more surprised with the girl's speed than her parents had been. Victor snarled and turned to Allan.

"Here's your opportunity to do away with the brute," the man hissed. "Go and get your precious little darling and bring back that beast . . . dead."

Allan frowned at the man and then turned to Sarah momentarily. "If I'm not back in an hour . . ." he began.

"We'll send her after you," Victor snorted, cocking the gun for emphasis. Allan restrained the desire to simply attack the man physically and turned towards the caves. "Get moving!"

--

Abigail felt a strong burning pressure building in her ears and around her lungs. The ship must have been sinking deeper into the ocean than she had been on this voyage. The vessel groaned, metal warped as alarms sounded all over the ship. There was so much sound alongside the water spraying in, that Abigail was sure she would go deaf in a few moments if she didn't return to the silence of the memory. The pressure continued to pound painfully in every nerve. Abigail turned towards Mina and Sawyer, holding tightly to objects firmly attached to the deck itself. She frowned. She had made at least two wonderful friends on this voyage, and now she would lose them both. There had to be something that could be done. The ringing silenced as the memory filled her vision and consciousness once again. At least she would die in the middle of a memory and not terrified of her dismal fate.

--

She panted heavily as her tiny legs sped over the sandy ground and towards the base of the caves. The surface looked safe enough to climb. The noise called to her yet again. It was definitely higher in these caves. She grunted and hoisted herself up, grabbing the nearest ledge above her and simply drawing the rest of her body upward. As her feet met the ledge, she released her hold and quickly took hold of the next ledge above her. The girl remained oblivious to any other noises or thoughts than the summons and a quick plan to reach it. Minutes later, she found herself on a long, flat surface that would easily have served as a lovely sized veranda had it been located in front of a proper home and not a massive cave. The summons was loudest now. She turned and looked around in confusion. If she went any further, then she would be going too far. She decided it best to simply sit and wait for the voice to come to her. Just as her skirt fluttered around her with the gust from having plopped onto the ground, she heard loud breathing from the cave's entrance. She turned and narrowed her eyes toward it.

"_Hujambo_?" she called cautiously to the darkened opening. A soft grunt was the reply. Abigail frowned and scooted closer to the cave. The breathing grew louder as the snowy form of the lion appeared in the entranceway. Abigail smiled brightly. "There you are!" she laughed. The lion sauntered casually towards the small girl, it's tail swinging to and fro with renewed irritation in something not far away. Abigail raised both arms to the creature as it let out a low growl.

--

Two of the crewmen still on the bridge suddenly fell backwards, sliding across the floor to the very end of the room where the read-outs for all of the controls and gauges lay. Jekyll found himself compelled to reach out and try and catch one of them before they collided with the wall. In the process, the doctor found himself reeling backwards and into the gauges themselves. He turned and looked into the glass covered guages behind him, catching a glimpse of the face of his alter ego.

"_We can do something, Henry, we can stop this_," Hyde said loudly. Jekyll stared at him in confusion.

"What are you talking about?" the doctor demanded.

"_We can open the vents, work around the valves_," the beast continued. "_You know we can, together_."

Jekyll contemplated the advantages of releasing Hyde, then recalled the countless horrors that had been comitted as well. He inhaled sharply, praying silently for guidance of anykind.

--

Allan wandered quickly into the caves and up into the portion where he had seen the lion the night before. He had thought about calling out to his child, but then decided it best to not draw attention to her or himself while the creature was still about. The village had been brutally attacked while something had distracted him. Allan could only imagine what it had been. These men would have had no qualms sacrificing one of their own so that the beast wouldn't disturb them. It seemed like days passed as he climbed up to the flat surface that surrounded the majority of the higher caves. He frowned and looked over the ledge. The place where he had left Sarah and Harry was on the other side of this structure; they were completely out of his view and beyond his protection. The familiar sound of senseless chattering suddenly reached him from one of the near entrances. He froze. It was Abigail's voice, no doubt. What disturbed him was how she had managed to get up here so quickly. Something must have carried her. He raised Matilda slowly and placed a finger on the trigger, ready to fire at any second. Cautiously, the aged hunter slunk towards the entrance and peered around the corner where the rocks formed a sort of partial wall seperating one section of the walkway from the other. Sitting contentedly on the ground was Abigail, reaching to the side and stroking the white mane of the great cat. Allan breathed sharply; this would not be easy. The girl spoke calmly to the beast in what simple words she knew of Swahili and seemed to be waiting every few moments for a reply. As the hunter positioned himself to deal a perfect shot to the creature's head without harming the girl, the lion turned and rose to its feet. It lowered its head and let out a guttural growl, signaling to the hunter that the gun was not the only thing unwelcome in the caves. The beast raised its upper lip, bearing razor teeth alongside the snarling. Abigail climbed stood upright and put both hands on the lion, suddenly noticing her father as well.

"Abigail," Allan said calmly and softly. "Stay where you are, do not move," he ordered. Abigail frowned and leaned against the beast. "Abigail."

"Don't hurt him," she pleaded innocently. Allan readied to pull the trigger as the lion moved a step closer to him, still growling angrily. "He says he can help. Bad things have happened and he can make them go away. He can help, you have to let him."

--

Everyone on the bridge, including the preoccupied Nemo, turned to the girl for a moment. Her blank stare raised to meet Jekyll's look of panic. She grasped her father's arm tightly as her expression changed to urgent.

"He says he can help. Bad things have happened and he can make them go away," she repeated aloud. The group turned to Jekyll. The doctor stared back at the girl in silent realization. "He can help, you have to let him."

Pleased with the sign that had been given, Jekyll forced his way out of the room and headed down towards the engine. This was, no doubt, going to be the highlight of the entire voyage for both himself and Hyde. The rest of the team turned back to Abigail while the doctor swept madly out of the room. The girl smiled.

"It's alright," she said with a bright smile. "He knows what he's doing; he's very brave."


	18. The Decision to Move Forward

**Chapter 18: The Decision to Move Forward**

Abigail was not able to see Jekyll dive straight into the engineroom and release his less charming persona. She was not able to hear the churning water, the rushing air, or the groaning of the equipment sliding back into place on the metal floor. She saw her father lower the rifle as he stared pensively at the lion. Kwasa'uti ceased growling and stood staring back at the hunter for a moment, waiting to see whether or not the man's intentions were to do as little harm to any creature as possible or to simply do away with anything that seemed to pose a threat. As Allan stepped to the side and continued to call cautiously to Abigail, the spirit's question was answered. The legendary Allan Quatermain was no murderer of man or beast. The lion snorted loudly and turned back to the girl, letting out a series of low grunts and huffs. Abigail frowned in a manner very familiar to Allan. It was the same look usually displayed when the girl had been told to either cease playing and come in for the night or any other command that stifled her liberated nature with the confines of childhood. She walked towards the cave's entrance and sat down just within the edge of the darkened rocky rim.

"Abigail?" Allan said worriedly as he took a step towards the cave. The lion raised its head towards him and growled loudly. The man looked down at the creature and sneered. "This is ridiculous," he muttered.

"He says for me to stay here, that the two of you and mother can handle everything," Abigail announced indignantly. Allan gave the lion a slight look of apprehension. He did not like the idea of leaving his child up here in the caves, especially given the wildlife that inhabited it; but he liked the idea of trying to keep her out of the way while attacking the criminals below, even less. There were armed jackanapes holding his wife and son hostage while an elleged spirit of the continent stood before him as a growling lion. For the moment, there was really only one course of action that could come close to being the lesser of the two evils; trust the blood-thirsty animal. He sighed heavily and took a step backwards as the lion strode past him and began to bound down the side of the formation, waiting every few paces for the hunter to follow. "I never get to do anything," Abigail said loudly from the mouth of the cave in the distance. Allan shook his head and continued after the creature. In her memory, Abigail had seen nothing of the battle below and had heard only part of the commotion that ensued when her father and Kwasa'uti had returned to the criminals. What had happened that day? Abigail had never thought it prudent to ask when she had been younger and hadn't had the opportunity to ask at all in the past six years. She frowned as the vision of her brother and father appearing at the edge of the rock platform became clear. She ran to them and looked excitedly at her father. "Where is he, where is the lion? Did he make everything alright?" Allan frowned and looked towards Harry. Abigail felt her heart shatter at the looks of sheer torment on the faces of her brother and father.

"He was hurt," Harry said softly. Allan placed a hand comfortingly on the boy's shoulder. Harry breathed deeply and turned away. "There was nothing we could do to help him even after he helped us."

Abigail looked back and forth between the two for a moment and then settled into an inquisitive stare aimed at her father. "Is he still hurting?" she asked softly.

"No, Abigail," he replied taking the girl into his arms. "He's dead. He won't hurt anymore. Everything is fine now, and we need to start back towards home. Your mother is absoloutely beside herself."

The girl frowned and nodded. As gifted as the girl was in her infancy, the whole concept of death was still elusive and rather rude from her perspective. People and animals were snatched away by death either with notice that outlived its welcome or without any suitable warning whatsoever. If death would simply learn how to give formal notice to the living and then practice the propriety of punctuality, then perhaps the rest of the world wouldn't be so angry with it or afraid of it. She shook her head and leaned onto her father's shoulder, gripping his sleeve tightly as they began to descend back towards the rest of the waiting group. Abigail looked towards the horizon in the direction of Nairobi, her home. The sun was nearly at the centre of the sky, but not enough to be out of the painful view of anyone trying to get a look towards the north. The glare of brilliant orange and yellow rays burned sharply as they met her young pupils. She cried out and raised both hands to her eyes, rubbing them furiously.

--

She felt her father's grip around her lighten as the ship returned to its normal, upright position and the floor followed suit. The memory had flashed out of her consciousness as the danger on the ship had reached an end. Her head throbbed madly with the pain of being made to compensate for incredible pressures without assistance. Allan breathed heavily and leaned against the wall of the bridge, grasping his injured shoulder in pain that was beginning to get the better of him. Sawyer released his hold on one of the standing gages and walked towards the two.

"Are you alright?" he asked, looking at Allan with genuine concern.

"It's nothing," the man said dismissively as the room began to empty and everyone on the bridge returned to the navigation room to clean up. Several of the crewman began to set furniture upright and take bits of broken glass or metal away. Allan and Sawyer moved towards the enormous table and worked as one to move it back to the centre of the room. The table had been crafted out of mohagany and proved to be far more difficult to move initially than either of the two had anticipated. The waining presence of pure adrenaline solved the issue of necessary increased strength for the task. Abigail walked towards Mina and began helping lift a few less heavy items from the floor to their rightful positions. Mina frowned at the girl and reached forward, softly moving a few strands of hair away from her brow.

"You should sit down, Abigail," Mina said firmly. The girl frowned, afraid that her one ally in the power of women was now seeing her as weak. The vampiress smirked. "You've done more running than anyone else so far."

Abigail nodded and moved slowly towards a chair. Sawyer noted this before the girl could take the seat and stepped forward quickly to play the role of perfect gentleman. After she was seated, and the two had exchanged a bright smile, Jekyll strode calmly back into the room. Nemo and Allan stood and smiled at the man in full admiration as he walked towards them, apparently no worse for the experience in setting Hyde free for a few moments.

"Let's not make a saint out of a sinner," he cautioned with a timid smile towards Mina. "Next time he may be far less than helpful."

"There will not be a next time on this ship," Nemo said firmly. He looked towards Abigail as she set her hands uneasily on the table and watched Sawyer get back to cleaning up alongside the others. "Not for a long time."

"Can we still follow Gray and M?" Jekyll asked as he pointed directly to the navigational globe on the wall while crewmen replaced the silvered prongs. Allan looked towards the wall and sighed heavily, reaching down and picking up one of the heavy chairs.

"Well, we were the faster," he said sadly. "Now we're the tortise to their hare."

"Then we really are done for," Jekyll noted with a solemn tone that marked more than disappointment.

"No," Sawyer said loudly from the opposite end of the room. He harshly set down a large metal pitcher that had served water in the room on numerous occasions. "We're alive, all of us; if M or Gray have any ideas as to the opposite then that gives us an edge."

"The sea is vast, young Sawyer," Nemo added with a sigh. Sawyer was beginning to think that heavy sighing was a definite sign of aging. "They could be anywhere and nowhere at all."

"Yeah? Well as the only American in this room I'll be the optimist," he stated proudly and began walking towards the rest of the group as they gathered around the table once again. Allan gave a half smile and sat down at the head of the table with Abigail to his right. Mina stared at the youth as he locked eyes confidently with each one in turn. "Maybe that's a crime or some sorta illness among you twisted British so and so's, but it keeps me from going crazy."

"That sort of optimism is out of place," Mina said looking away.

"You're wrong," Sawyer corrected firmly. The vampiress turned to him in shock, as did the rest of the people present. " 'Cause we'll get our man," he replied firmly. Abigail watched sadly as the boy's eyes turned downward as they had done with recalling the memory of his deceased partner. He frowned and looked towards Allan. "That other agent I told you about, the one that Fantom killed, he was my childhood friend. We did everything together until that bastard shot him dead," Sawyer said with a twinge of vengence fueled anger forming in his tender gaze. He began to gaze at each member in turn once again. "So you can be done and give up right here and now, but I am not done. I will avenge his death."

Jekyll breathed deeply and walked towards the boy with a look of sympathy. "It's not about anyone of us, Tom," he reasoned. "It never has been."

"Yes it is, Jekyll," Sawyer corrected angrily as he placed both his fists firmly on the opposite end of the table. He stared directly at Allan, a grin forming behind his words. "Alright; so this M tricked you. He brought y'all together and you walked right into his trap. But the way I see it, that was his biggest mistake. He brought you together. Besides, the fate of the world is in our hands, now; the world," the boy said with the same glisten in his eyes that all had expected to be ablaze in the eyes of Quatermain. Allan smiled brightly and looked towards the others. "Didn't he just say that the most powerful weapon in times to come will be the power of the League itself? Well, y'all got that without any work at all for the moment. Now you just gotta use to your advantage."

Mina lifted her head in admiration, accompanied by the others in smiles and nods of agreement.

"He has a point," Jekyll said.

"More than that," Allan said. "He has a plan, or something that resembles it. It seems that the boy has become a man, perhaps a leader of men."

"And women," Mina added quickly. Sawyer turned to her and bowed his head politely. The vampiress had not been so warm with him the whole voyage thus far. He must have really outdone himself with that little speech. He turned to Abigail and noted that her cheeks were bright red which could have either been from the recent event or from her infatuation with him directly. Before another word could be said, one of the crewmen burst into the room from the bridge.

"Captain! We're getting a signal, it's from the Nautiloid!" he cried excitedly. Nemo silently raced towards the room and stopped in front of one of his men who was now seated at one of the stations, listening carefully to a series of clicks and taps with precise hearing. The rest of the League hurried to join the captain and stood patiently as the man jotted a few things down on paper and mouthed part of the translation to himself. Abigail slowly joined them, eyes fixed with confusion on her father for the memory that had played before her. Every now and again the gaze would drift to Sawyer and affix itself fully on his eyes, smile, and unruly hair; all adding to the appearance of the young man she was growing to love.

"What is the message?" Nemo asked impatiently. The crewman smiled sideways as he looked up towards his commander.

"Hello, my freaky darlings," he translated in monotone.

"Mr. Skinner!" Abigail realized aloud. The group glanced towards her for a moment, realizing at the same moment that Abigail was going to fulfil Mina's statement in being just as important as her father. "What else is he saying?"

"Am hiding on board little fishy with Gray and M . . . heading east by northeast . . . follow my lead . . . I'll contact again," the crewman replied, still jotting down words mindlessly.

Sawyer turned to the rest and crossed his arms. Abigail had heard her mother refer to this look as 'grinning like a Cheshire cat'. "Well, I think we've found yet another ace in the hole," he said proudly. "All we need to do is get this dingy up and running again."

"That will only take a short time," Nemo said happily. "We have plenty of able bodied men to repair the ship and others to repair men."

Allan felt a wave of sickness surround him, squeezing his chest and stomach unmercifully for a few moments. He leaned backwards and placed a hand over the knife wound on his shoulder that now throbbed madly with pain. Jekyll frowned.

"I think I know someone who needs repair right away," he said. He carefully took hold of Allan's good shoulder and turned back to Abigail. "Get a basic medical kit and meet me in your father's stateroom. There should be plenty for you to choose from in the infirmary."

She nodded quickly and looked towards the others.

"You were right about Mr. Gray," Nemo said with a bow. "We will be more attuned to anything you might have to tell us. Evil like his must be stopped before it is allowed to act."

"I never said he was evil," Abigail replied. The rest of the group looked at her in confusion. "Evil is using him, but he wasn't the source of it."

"Then perhaps you were mislead on a far smaller scale than we were," Mina offered. "You weren't able to see all of his potential, just enough to warn you."

"No, I'm not wrong about these things Misses Harker," Abigail said firmly. The woman frowned, hoping that the girl was not allowing some sort of pity to cloud any further warnings about Gray or any others like him. "Dorian Gray is not evil, but if he continues to serve it, then he will join its fate. Until then, he might actually prove to be useful somehow."

"Let us pray that it doesn't come to that," Mina muttered as she strode out of the room. "Come; we'll get the supplies that Jekyll requires for your father. How the two of you manage to keep from screaming your heads off when horribly maimed is beyond me."

Abigail smiled and shook her head as she followed after the woman. Sawyer hurried after her, catching her by the arm as she reached the door. The girl looked up at him for a moment; then, feeling a little overwhelmed by the frolicking of her stomach and heart in unison, looked downward and breathed deeply. The last thing she needed to do after proving her bravery and usefulness was collapse in a starry eyed heap in front of the young man. He breathed deeply and softly put both hands on her shoulders.

"You went off on your own to save the people in Venice?" he asked. She nodded, still averting her eyes from the source of all her happy ailments at the moment. "That was brave, Miss Abigail."

Abigail smiled brightly. There was something about hearing her name, her first name, spoken by someone who held her affections. It rang beautifully like a symphony of drums, flutes, and pipes playing all at once. She thought for a moment. Perhaps it would solidify her affection to him if she did the same. Small acts tended to bring about the biggest reactions and, as her mother had stated to her father quite plainly, the greatest actions as well. She breathed calmly and took one of his hands in hers as she moved towards the door once again.

"Thank you, Thomas," she replied softly. The boy froze in shocked silence. Abigail noted the change in his posture and breathing immediately through his hand. She frowned and looked up at him, ignoring the circus that it sparked within her. "Is something wrong?"

"No one's ever called me by my name in full, least not that I can reckon. Becky wrote it out and Aunt Polly used to say it over and over real loud when she was angry," he said with a smirk. "You know, I don't even think any of my superiors ever called me that, not at all."

Abigail frowned. "Does that upset you?" she asked timidly.

"Not at all," he replied leaning forward. "As a matter of fact, I kinda like it."

"It is a handsome name," Abigail continued, leaning forward to match the youth's pose. Sawyer smiled and took her other hand in his. "It has been spoken proudly throughout history."

"And has been shouted in total aggravation as well," Mina interjected as she re-appeared in the doorway, placing a hand firmly on the girl's shoulder. Abigail looked up at the woman sheepishly, her face burning an even deeper crimson. Sawyer stepped away and nodded to the two. Mina raised one brow in his direction and then led Abigail swiftly out of the room. "Your father is still in need of medical attention, Abigail."

"I know," she said with a sigh. Mina shook her head, smiling slightly at the thought of what was to come for the both of them as well as Allan and Sarah. Abigail stopped for a moment and raised a hand to her mouth. "What if father wasn't the one that killed him?"

"Killed whom?" Mina said in surprise. Abigail walked past the woman mindlessly, still headed towards the infirmary.

"It can't be ignored. I think he still has something to tell us," she muttered as she walked. "I need to ask father all the details about it."

"About what?" Mina continued as they entered the infirmary. Abigail turned towards her, a solemn tone now across her once glistening features.

"About home," she replied sadly.


	19. Story From The Past, Lesson For the

**Chapter 19: A Story From the Past, A Lesson For The Future**

Jekyll was successful in convincing Allan that he needed to stay lying down in his own room until further notice when it was stated plainly that such a manuever would keep Abigail thoroughly occupied during the repairs. The wound on the hunter's shoulder was small enough to be kept unseen by the others, but it was quite deep and now beginning to bleed quite freely. Jekyll found it odd that the man had not succomb to any sort of shock. As skilled and weathered as the old man might have been, the fact remained that he was just that, an old man. It didn't seem right for anyone of his age or accomplished injuries from the past to be so vibrant well into his twilight years. That legend of Africa not allowing him to die must have had some truth to it. Of course, after seeing Abigail's gift proven, it might be a little easier to believe any of their talk of blessings and curses. Allan tried to remain as dignified as possible while lying back and removing the sleeve and shirt from his maimed shoulder. Jekyll glanced over the wound and smiled.

"I think you could have walked back with that blade still in you," he remarked. "This wound should have rendered you unconscious by now."

"I've had much worse," Allan retorted.

"Apparently," the doctor mused as he looked down at the man's wrist on the same arm. A thick leather band had been placed around it for some past medical reason. This either meant a weakened joint or chronic pain in the wrist when firing a weapon. Either way, the condition hadn't stopped the man at all. The doctor had seen first hand, through the eyes of his alter personality, that the man never missed a shot and never winced, either. The door opened, allowing Mina and Abigail to enter quietly. The doctor turned towards the two and smiled brightly. He turned back to Allan, speaking softly as the two women set down the medicines and supplies on one of the dressers, arranging them carefully. "You are a very lucky man, Mr. Quatermain; and I mean that in several ways."

The elder raised his hand dismissively and watched the doctor move quickly to Abigail's side.

"This is what you asked for, isn't it?" Abigail asked uneasily. Jekyll smiled and laid a hand on her shoulder.

"It should be just enough. Tell me, Abigail, how much do you know about medicine and treating wounds?" he asked. "Did you learn anything at school or from your mother?"

"Yes," Abigail replied with a curious look. "The only thing I didn't learn was how to suture a wound. I became ill at the sight of it." Jekyll's expression fell slightly at her words. She looked at him excitedly. "But that was some time ago, years ago, ages ago. I'm sure I could handle seeing something like that now."

"I suppose now is as good a time as any to find out," he replied as he gathered a few of the items from the dresser. "After all, you won't do much good in Cambridge at the Medical University if you are at all squeamish. Come along, but keep the distance I show you. Breath carries pathogens that can cause infection, so you'll need to keep away somewhat from the open wound ."

"I'll just be going if the two of you have it in hand," Mina interjected, not wanting to hear a lecture in wound care from anyone at the moment. Jekyll turned towards the woman and nodded to her warmly. She gave Abigail a last quick glance and smirk before slipping silently out of the room.

"Is the wound terribly deep?" Abigail asked as Jekyll motioned for them to return to her father's side.

"Indeed. Now, let me tell you something that should impress the board when you apply. A wound like this is called a puncture wound," he said taking a seat beside the bed. Abigail stood at her father's other arm and moved to lean over him. "That's close enough for now, Abigail. Also, a wound where the skin has been torn like cloth is called a fissure while wounds where the skin is torn away as in being scraped by stone is called an abrasion. If the blade had simply made a cut it would have been considered a laceration. Only lacerations and large puncture wounds can be sutured effectively."

"Skin torn like cloth is a fissure, scraped away is an abrasion, a simple cut is a laceration, and a stab wound is a puncture wound," she repeated as he withdrew a metal box she and Mina had brought him and placed it on a nearby stand for him. She breathed deeply and reminded herself that flesh was no different than cloth; cloth with blood. "Only lacerations and puncture wounds can be sutured closed."

"Or should be sutured closed; elsewise they would cause harm," he corrected. Abigail felt a cold wave begin to ebb over her ever so slightly as the doctor leaned forward over one of the other metal boxes of supplies that Mina had directed Abigail to bring with them. Inside lay a series of needles set on a roll of leathery cloth to prevent being lost or causing injury. Alongside the needle were a few rolls of thin twine, a small pair of scissors, and several rolls of clean white gauze. The doctor made sure that there were several handcloths nearby as he rolled up both sleeves above the elbow once again and walked towards the washbasin in the far corner of the room. He stood over the basin and cleaned his hands thoroughly. He looked back towards Abigail and smiled. "Bring me a handcloth and bring one for yourself. The first thing any physician should do before even the smallest proceedure is make sure that their tools and hands are clean."

Abigail nodded excitedly, forcing away the nauseating cold with enthusiasm as she took two cloths in her hands. She trembled slightly as she hurried to the washbasin and handed the doctor one of the handcloths to dry his hands as she washed hers meticulously. Jekyll watched and nodded approvingly as she dried her own.

"Mother had the hardest time keeping clean water and cloth nearby when treating the wild animals, but she managed somehow," Abigail added as calmly as she could manage. "She says that infection kills more victims than wounds themselves."

"She's right," Jekyll added as he returned to the man's side and sat down. He selected a needle and began to carefully thread some of the twine through the eye. Allan breathed heavily. He could handle pain inflicted on him from an outside source, but rarely the pain of the healing process and never the pain inflicted by those dedicated to it. He closed his eyes for a moment as Abigail moved to his other side, watching the doctor carefully. Jekyll looked up and raised his hand commandingly. Abigail stopped, remaining beside her father's good arm only a few inches away. This must have been the safe distance he had wanted her too keep. Allan noted the pallid complexion growing in Abigail. He reached up with his good hand and grasped her nearest hand tightly. The pressure was enough of a minor distraction to make the proceedure interesting at the moment without making her ill. "Now, the twine must be strong enough to last and hold the flesh together as it heals. However, we do not want the twine to heal into the wound. The sutures must not be loosened between stitches at all, or the results could be very painful for the patient. They will be removed in a few days."

"God willing it will be less than that," Allan muttered through gritted teeth. He stared angrily at the physician. As much good as this man was doing him, the hunter couldn't see past the unnecessary pain he was suffering at the moment. He would have been perfectly fine pouring a little scotch into the wound and binding it with some cloth. This whole ordeal was for Abigail's benefit, he reminded himself. He grunted as Jekyll finally finished the last stitch and held the twine tightly, cutting the string free.

The physician smiled brightly as he began to tie a small knot in the end of the twine at the very end of the wound. "Now, we'll need to clean and dress the wound. Why?"

"Cleaning and dressing prevent infections," she replied softly. "Covering the wound makes sure that nothing gets in and that no damage is done to the sutures."

"Very good," Jekyll remarked as he finished the knot. "So, I'll leave the cleaning and dressing to you for the moment. I need to go and see what else needs to be done in the infirmary. I'll come and see about the both of you ever now and again, but there were some very serious injuries done by all that debris. Can you handle putting the salve and the binding on yourself after cleaning this?"

"I think so," Abigail whispered. Jekyll frowned.

"Can you handle treating the patient in my absence?" he asked more firmly. Abigail turned her gaze towards him and nodded slightly. He raised one brow reproachfully. She needed to be more sure of herself if she were to excel. With the knowledge that she seemed to take in and retain, she might make the transition to talented surgeon one day. The girl seemed to have more interest in medicine than to simply be a nurse recieving orders; she wanted to be at the top. All she would need to do is get past her disgust for blood and the disdain that the board of physicians had for her gender. The one was most easily done, the other could be accomplished with a little cajoling from Edward.

"Yes, doctor," she replied more loudly. He nodded and turned, gathering a few things in both hands. Abigail released her hold on her father's hand and folded her hands carefully in front of her. The bandaging that had once been on the hand that had received the wound from Sawyer's knife was long gone. Any bandaging that had been placed on Abigail had been discarded as soon as no one had been looking. He placed a container of alchohol and the same salve that Mina had used to treat her wounds in one hand and a roll of gauze in the other. "I'll need to clean it first?"

"Yes, with a little alchohol; and do not bind the wound too tightly. Blood needs to be able to reach it to heal it effectively. Be gentle when cleaning it, the sutures and flesh are still new and could easily be torn," he explained. "I will return momentarily. Have the wound cleaned and dressed, and keep the patient awake. Alright?"

"Yes, doctor," Abigail replied calmly and firmly. She nodded to the doctor with professionalism that the man had seen only among the prestigious doctors that came from generations of physicians. Jekyll nodded once to Allan and then hurried out of the room, closing the door softly behind him. She walked towards the seat that the doctor had recently occupied and now began to softly swipe the alchohol soaked handcloth over the stitches. Allan breathed deeply, keeping himself from showing any further signs of pain to his daughter. "Most other men would have been made ill by this wound. I heard stories from Dr. Kruschev of men in his country going into fits from wounds incurred by knives like this. Most of them were accidental, of course."

"Well, I think you and everyone else on board will see more and more examples of my not being like most other men," he replied with a wink. She nodded. After patting it dry, Abigail opened the container of salve and withdrew a small dose on the tips of her fingers. Allan smiled. "It seems that you're proving on an hourly basis that you aren't most other young women."

"I could have told you that," she replied shaking her head. "In fact, if I remember correctly I tried to tell you that very thing when I first arrived."

"I suppose I wasn't listening," Allan shrugged. Abigail finished applying the salve gently and wiped her hands clean on the last handcloth. "You learn very quickly."

"I remember things easily, that makes learning the new a little more smooth, I think," she reasoned. She turned her gaze to meet her father's directly and deeply. "One of my memories combined with a bit of yours on the bridge. I went back to the past in my mind while all of that turmoil was going on."

"Which one?" Allan asked with genuine interest. Abigail leaned forward and gently pulled her father to a proper sitting position so that she could wrap the gauze around his shoulder and chest.

"The excursion to Tsavo," Abigail replied. Allan felt his blood freeze. He had prayed that Abigail had been too young to have remembered that travesty. It was the only excursion, other than the loss of Harry, that he truly considered a failiure. He sighed and looked away as she began binding the wound. "I saw what I remembered and then a little of what happened when mother and Harry and I were in the cart. I couldn't see from your perspective after I ran off towards the caves. I can still hear Kwasa'uti's voice when I remember the incident."

"Really?" Allan remarked casually.

"Yes," Abigail continued. "I still can't recall what happened there; how you managed to free mother and Harry and what really happened to the lion." Allan said nothing as Abigail stared firmly at him. He had hoped that by feigning a little weakness, he might be able to get away from retelling the story in its entirety to someone that had never heard the details before. He sighed heavily as Abigail simply stared at him while finishing tying off the bandage. "What happened, father?"

Allan scooted himself up to sitting directly in front of the girl and grasping both her hands. "It isn't important," he replied.

"My mind disagrees; that was too vivid and strange to be unimportant. What did happen that day?" Abigail asked in the soft innocent voice that was most familiar to Allan. He was still not sure that he approved of her reaching womanhood, but he was equally sure that there was nothing he could do to easily forbid it or effectively halt it.

"I wasn't sure that I was at myself," Allan replied heavily. "What with your mother being held captive and all, I was positively flustered. I was sure that I could have heard that beast speaking words to me."

"He did, father," Abigail corrected quickly. Allan frowned. There was no denying one's connection to the mysteries of their own past or the universe itself in the presence of a gifted child. What disturbed him the most was that the child just happened to be his own.

When Abigail had finished tying the bandages around his chest and shoulder, he stared deeply into the girl's eyes.

"Abigail," he said softly. "Do you remember your brother after that day, how he seemed different?"

"Yes," she said slowly. "He said that being forced to realize that you and mother were in danger made him a man."

"That might have had a good part in it," Allan said. He looked down and sighed heavily. "I wonder if I had been the one to kill the lion if his life would have been spared and mine taken that day years later." Abigail raised her head in confusion, giving her father a sideglance. He shook his head and pulled the girl closer to him. "I haven't told a story from the dark continent in years. I hope I'm not out of practice."

"I doubt that you would ever lose the ability to relate anything, father," Abigail replied with a smile. Allan looked back at her uneasily. Relating the story might change things best left as illusions. He frowned. Abigail tightened her grasp around his hands. "What _did_ happen that day?"

"It was quite a task following the brute down the mountainside and towards the village. Your mother and Harry were still unharmed and I hadn't heard any other commotion from the area. I was sure, as I neared where they were still standing, that I heard the lion command me to wait for him." He shook his head once again and breathed heavily. "I watched him leap effortlessly over the wall of the boma for a moment. I wasn't sure what he was up to, but something told me that none of it was real, that all of it was some sort of dream that I simply needed to wander through until I awoke to the reality of hunting the men in Tsavo. Anyhow, the lion leapt back over the wall of the boma after a moment, his face was covered in what must have been the blood of a few of the villagers." Abigail winced in disgust. "He hadn't eaten anyone, he had simply coated himself, his face specifically, with what had already been spilt. He stared at me for a moment, commanding me to attack only after he had returned with the traitor. I was stunned and still not sure of what exactly was happening, but I did decide it best to wait and see what would happen. If something went wrong, I was still close enough to handle it.

Only a few moments after following the beast sauntering over to the place where I had left your mother and Harry, I heard a barrage of sounds that still ring loudly in my mind. I heard the beast snarling and then roaring, your mother screaming and wailing, Harry shouting, and then finally the onset of a brawl. The lion attacked Obaa and the two men with him, he had already killed two of them and was working on the last when I arrived on the scene. Victor and his cronies were all scrambling for their weapons while Harry and Sarah did their best to get free. Sarah got a few good hits in, as did Harry, but Victor remained unscathed by all of it. He had managed to get off to the side and watch all of it happening. That's where I came in. It didn't take long to subdue him since I had the drop on him from behind. When Victor was unconscious and I was sure that he wouldn't be going anywhere, I hurried to help stop the rest of the madness. By the time I had arrived in plain view, Sarah and Harry had rendered the others well into unconsciousness with the help of the two men with us; although if I may say so I believe that Sarah did the majority of the work in that regard.

I was relieved that all we would need to do was find rope and then pile the men into the back of the cart we were using since the men had already been captured by my associates with substantial assistance. Unfortunately, I hadn't arrived quickly enough to explain the presence of the one that had assisted me. Kwasa'uti began to approach Sarah, who seemed to be staring at him hatefully. I suppose he had wanted Sarah to be the one to fetch you. Before he could reach her, Harry . . ." Allan trailed off for a moment at these words, finding even rethinking the event to be difficult and painful. Abigail frowned and swallowed hard. Her brother had been in opposition to their father's hunting and adventuring at the expense of Africa's natural majesty. Had he been the one to destroy the last remaining ancient idol? "The lion was already injured, Abigail, he had been dying for a few days before that. I saw that he had been terribly wounded when we had been up in the caves. There was a mark near the left breastbone and ribcage that looked very angry. He would have lingered for weeks, perhaps months, if something hadn't been done."

"But that wasn't why Harry shot him, was it?" Abigail asked sadly.

"A beast that had just torn three men apart after you and I both had gone missing in his territory was approaching the boy's stepmother," Allan reasoned. He closed his eyes, wishing the entire event away from his mind and heart forever. "I should have been there sooner, I knew to have been there sooner."

Abigail thought for a moment. She shook her head. "It wouldn't have mattered," she realized aloud. Allan stared at her in confusion. She turned to meet his gaze and smiled. "Kwasa'uti had been robbed of the village, he had seen the countrymen betray their own, I think he wanted to be free from it all before something worse happened."

"If the creature had really been that powerful, then he could have done so by some other means," Allan argued.

"Possibly, but that wouldn't have been natural and it wouldn't have served mankind one last time. He wouldn't have simply given himself up. He had fought for centuries to stay alive in a body, perhaps he was simply ready to move on," Abigail countered. Allan froze and thought for a few seconds about that thought. It would be rather dull and frustrating for even a guardian spirit to be so confined for so long, especially while watching the landscape being raped by poachers and thieves. The final straw must have been seeing Obaa and the other two aide in the spilling of their own people's blood. Such foul deeds had been a part of history from its birth in every ethnic recollection of it, and it was always repaid swiftly with blood as well. "Harry did something very noble, especially in protecting a woman that wasn't his birth mother and at the thought of having lost the last family that he had to his name. He wasn't going to let himself die if something had happened to you; he would have taken care of mother and I as well as you had."

"More so," Allan said remorsefully. Abigail looked at him with deepest sympathy. "Harry would never have allowed to happen what I did. I rather think that he could have changed the world if he had lived long enough."

"You don't have to live to change the world," Abigail added quickly. Allan smiled. Abigail hadn't been blessed directly with the Shaman's wisdom, but she had it to her credit from time to time. Perhaps that was simply the mark of womanhood. Even with limited means of education and skill, women seemed to exceed the men of their lands in wisdom and understanding. In their creation, God had given the fair sex a portion of his divine nature and not just his image. Allan had believed firmly that this was why women were the houses of life and needed to be protected. This was also a thought that thoroughly infuriated him on a regular basis, but it was a pleasant annoyance tolerated for the sake of continuing happiness. "That wound won't kill you, but I do think that you should rest. You haven't slept well since the journey began."

Allan chuckled, leaning forward and softly kissing the girl on the head. "Your mother would be proud to see what a young woman you've become in the past few days alone," he said beaming. "However, I do believe that she would stand by the principle that you should not have come along no matter what, just to keep her authority and all."

"Luckily, we're too far away for her to pursue and not seem weak or unfeminine," Abigail reassured. "I think there will be much for all of us to say when we return."

"Of course," Allan agreed with a tone of sorrow. Something in the hunter's voice told his child that part of him wished not to return; part of him rather expected not to return after all of this. That may have been what frustrated the man more than the girl's gender or age on this voyage. It was hard to abandon one's family in a noble death with an audience. He sighed heavily and leaned back on the bed. "Tell Jekyll I wish to remain undisturbed until morning. If he has any disagreements with that then he may tell me about them then."

Abigail nodded, smiling more brightly at her father. The story might have seemed unnerving and perhaps even earth shattering some years ago, maybe even days ago, but at the moment there were more important things to worry about as well as be thankful for. She grasped her father's hand tightly once more and then left the room quietly. She looked to either side, trying to remember where exactly the infirmary had been. She frowned. She really wasn't as familiar with this vessel as she should have been. No matter, she would simply walk one way and ask directions if she felt lost. She walked briskly down the hallway, still denying the thoughts and events of the evening to settle and take effect. There would be plenty of time to do such things in dreams. She smiled at the thought of having her dreams too occupied to return that dreadful theatre once again. In fact, she would rather see a memory of her family in peril all night than return to that scene. She stopped for a moment, thinking. What if Gray felt the same? What if all of this were some elaborate escape of his past? She shook her head and began to move forward once again. Mr. Gray was hardly a suitable subject to pour over before sleeping; there were other figures that deserved a greater portion of attention. She froze for a moment. Figures . . . dreams . . . images . . . She still had yet to solve the mystery of that photograph of Mr. Gray. She smiled brightly. No one would be better to help her sove such a mystery than a spy.


	20. Abnormal Behaviour

**Chapter 20: A History of the Abnormal**

Abigail told the doctor what her father had said, word for word. Jekyll shook his head resoloutely and assured the girl that he would make sure that her father stayed well throughout the night. Abigail nodded quickly and raced off towards the navigation room once again, hoping that Sawyer had not returned to his quarters. It would look rather inappropriate for her to be visiting him in his room at this hour and after such a dreadful evening. To her relief, Sawyer had stayed with the captain and Ishmael for a few minutes as they discussed what would need to be repaired. The youth repeated to both men that he was more than capable of fixing what they needed since he had been accustomed to fixing many things back in America. Abigail wondered just how much Sawyer was capable of if he had been raised in a hearty farming community and then sent off to an academy for spies. She watched for a few moments, listening carefully to his voice and paying close attention to the exchange of breath from his chest to his throat. It was fascinating just to see the rise and fall of each portion as air swept in and out effortlessly. After several moments of hushed conversation, Sawyer excused himself and went to retire for the evening. Abigail could discern from what the captain was saying, that Jekyll and Mina were attending to the several that were still wounded. She contemplated going and joining them, but felt drawn to stay where she was as the boy turned towards her. Sawyer stopped and stared at her in confusion.

"Miss Abigail?" he said as he moved closer to her. "I thought you were with your father taking care of him."

"He's quite well for the moment," Abigail replied quickly. "Any further care would prove detremental to both him and anyone else near him."

Sawyer smiled brightly, knowing exactly what the girl had meant. He extended one hand to her and lowered his gaze a fraction. Abigail blushed and carefully grasped his hand with her own.

"I'll walk you back to your room, then. Seeing as you've been through an ordeal and all," he offered.

"I don't need an escort," Abigail corrected. "But I am more than happy to have you walk with me."

"I would have loved to have seen you out there whacking away at that villain," he remarked as they began walking towards her room. "I'm not sure the accuracy of the story going around right now, but Ishmael says your father said that you whopped him good at least three times."

Abigail stared at the American in bewilderment for a moment, truly feeling the seperation of their countries by language. "I hit him with the kitana when he came after me, that's all," she explained with a shrug.

"Shame you couldn't have knocked the stuffing out of Gray before he got too far away from us," the boy added as they rounded a corner. Abigail frowned then suddenly remembered what exactly she had wanted to ask the youth in the first place.

"Thomas, there's something I want to ask you about," she said. Sawyer's eyes lit up with curiosity and he looked as intentively at her as possible while still paying attention to where they were walking. She breathed deeply. "When I arrived, my father gave me written profiles of each of the members of the league along with a photograph of them. The only odd photograph was the one of Mr. Gray, that's why he set me on edge to begin with."

"What was odd about it?" Sawyer asked in confusion. Any picture of Skinner or Jekyll would have had to have been odd in his opinion. For that matter, what did the photograph of Mina look like?

"It's only that the photograph wasn't of him, not exactly him. It was a photograph of a portrait," she explained. "Isn't it terribly confusing to think that he had a photograph taken of a portrait laying about that dusty old flat?"

"What if it wasn't," Sawyer replied quickly.

"Wasn't what?"

"What if it wasn't a picture of something he had. What if it was something he didn't have anymore," Sawyer added. Abigial looked forward and thought carefully for a moment. "That recording disk said that the Fantom had something that he wanted real bad, close to his heart he said. What if this picture was kind of proof that the picture had been taken?"

"Wouldn't he be able to see that it was missing?" Abigail reasoned.

Sawyer shrugged slightly. "That kind of setup seems like blackmail to me, is all. Maybe the picture was in a summer home or something that he couldn't get to very quickly."

"If it was close to his heart, then why would he leave it in a summer home?" Abigail continued. Sawyer frowned and furrowed his brow.

"I can't say," he said. "That fella's not right at all. He just didn't seem like he was thinking properly from the get go, not to me. He's just plain confusing, more than anything I've ever tried to solve."

"You're right. Mr. Gray wasn't really known by anyone on board," Abigail reasoned aloud. "Father didn't know much about him, Nemo didn't know anything about him, Jekyll certainly seemed put off by him, and Misses Harker . . ." Abigail trailed off as a light went on in her head. "Misses Harker would know."

"Yeah, he did seem like he was kind of fond of her," the boy said as they stepped in front of the door to Abigail and Mina's room. "Well, fond of the idea of her anyways."

"Yes, fond of ideas but not people. That would be safer wouldn't it?" Abigail wondered aloud. Sawyer deepened his gaze at her, finding himself needing an explanation for her thoughts every few minutes. She shook her head. "Thank you, Thomas. I'll be fine here. When Misses Harker returns I'll ask her a few questions."

"If there's anything else I can answer for you," Sawyer said with a glowing smile. Abigail averted her eyes from their inviting warmth as she felt her face fill with blood once again. He leaned closer. "You're quite a young lady, Miss Abigail. I think you'll solve this before I even know where to begin."

"I disagree," Abigail replied turning to face the youth. She felt comforted and excited by the sight of his perfect features. "You've had far more experience in these matters."

"Well, experience ain't everything," he replied leaning even closer. Abigail now felt the exchange of breath from his chest to his throat as it escaped his lips. It was just as fascinating feeling it as watching it from a distance. She leaned closer to him, placing one hand gently on his chest below his neck.

"But experience speaks with wisdom that tends to keep things on the right track," a loud voice from behind reminded harshly. The two turned and noticed Mina standing perfectly still only a few feet away. She turned her gaze almost angrily towards the boy. "Mr. Sawyer, it has been a long evening and it will be a longer day tomorrow making the repairs needed." The boy nodded, sighing heavily and moving away from the girl. "I thank you for escorting Abigail back to her room, it was very considerate."

"Goodnight, Misses Harker," Sawyer said qucikly. He felt that there wasn't a proper reply at the moment for her gratitude. He turned for a moment and smiled once again toward Abigail. "Goodnight, Miss Abigail."

"Goodnight, Thomas," she said softly, watching the boy turn and head towards his own room without breathing. Mina frowned and opened the door, motioning for the girl to enter. Abigail shook her head and then looked up at the woman inquisitively. "Misses Harker, I have a few questions about Mr. Gray."

"Very well," Mina said as Abigail entered. "I suppose it might help to have a few things about the scoundrel out in the open. I imagine you'll want to know about his portrait."

Abigail's eyes widened. The photograph was a picture of a painting; but what was its purpose? She remained very silent as she dressed for bed and set down, waiting patiently for Mina to come and tell her the rest of Dorian's mystery. The girl was beginning to wonder if anyone on earth really knew who Dorain Gray was. Mina stood at the door for several minutes, seeming to recite something to herself inwardly before joining Abigail in the anteroom. The elder sat down on the edge of her bed facing the girl and sighed deeply.

"You knew that the photograph was strange when I told you," Abigail said aloud. Mina nodded heavily and closed her eyes for a moment. "Why didn't you say anything? Mr. Gray could have been stopped before he did any harm."

"He's done harm a plenty before this voyage, a little more wouldn't make a tremendous difference in the long run," the woman said softly. Mina shook her head and looked up at the girl. "M is a villain and would have gone through with any plans with or without Gray being present. Gray is a link that can still be used and he will be. That is for certain, my dear. At any rate, I didn't want to let such a terrible thing be known about him," she said as her gaze drifted sideways. Pain gripped her face as her jaw began to tremble ever so slightly. "I had hoped . . ." she whispered. Abigail drew herself upright and leaned toward the woman. Mina shook her head more firmly. "That aside, the whole ordeal with the painting in the photograph is a strange one."

"How old is that photograph, then?" Abigail asked.

"Not old, I imagine. The portrait, however, is quite old. Near an antique by this time I would say." Mina straightened herself and breathed deeply. "I met Dorian a few months before he met Sybil Vane. We fell madly in lust with one another and spent nearly six months together in secret. I suppose it was the charm of such a young boy playing its way into the heart of a widow, but he managed to make me love him for a time at least. In fact, it was because of the portrait that I left. You see, Dorian knew of me, what I was and what I would always be. It fascinated him and frightened him. When an artist opted to paint his portrait, he wished that he would be like myself; immortal and unable to weather away. The fool had no idea what he was asking."

"An artist gave him the curse?" Abigail asked with disgust and intrigue.

"Not a curse, my girl, the painting. Another friend edged him into the belief that the painting held some sort of magic to it. I had heard that it was magnificent. I never saw it of course, and I suppose that Dorian did not remember telling me of why," Mina said readjusting her sitting position. "It would have been fatal, you see. He told me that day that if anyone but the artist, the devil, and the subject saw the painting; then he would age and die immediately as per the contract in giving his soul for everlasting youth and beauty."

"Then he sold his soul to satan for immortality?" Abigail added. Mina smiled slightly.

"No, my dear. The devil was the salesman, but did not take the currency. Dorian sold his soul to art and laughed in saying that when humanity ends and his body is gone, then there will be no need of art and his debt is made void. A silly thing to think, really, but there you have it." Mina placed one hand under her chin pensively. "It was odd that he told me recently that he himself could not look on the painting or risk undoing its magic. What a frightful turn on the bargain."

"How is that possible unless someone else took his soul from art?" Abigail asked in total confusion. Even Sawyer's American dialect made more sense at this point than Dorian Gray's existance. How old was the scoundrel?

"It is odd, something that was said at dinner. I had mentioned the camera to everyone when Nemo asked me about the powder he gave me to analyze. I told them that it had to have been used to make a flash. Sawyer told everyone that the American aborigines believe that a camera steals the soul of the person it photographs," Mina said with amusement. Amusement faded as both hers and the face of Abigail suddenly alighted with realization. "It's true, it takes a part of the soul."

"If allowed. Shaman Mkube told my father that your soul cannot be tampered with while you are here, only reflected upon. Mr. Gray's condition is all in his head if that is the case. Still, his superstition that has accumulated over all of these years would have played some part in convincing him that the photograph had stolen the magic of his portrait," Abigail reasoned.

"Not stolen," Mina corrected. She smiled and looked away for a moment. "Reversed. He thinks that since the photograph has the power that the painting has negativity of somekind and if he looks at it he will be killed."

"This is all making my head hurt, but being so late I suppose it does make some sort of sense." Abigail sighed and pulled her knees to her chest, resting her chin against the caps with a grunt of exhaustion. "Then, using that logic, he would need to have the photograph destroyed by the artist who painted the portrait in the first place."

"That is impossible," Mina replied quickly. Abigail lifted her head and stared at the woman expectantly. Mina frowned and felt a lump of disgust form in her throat. "He killed the man that painted his portrait. He was convinced that he would destroy the painting and cost him everything."

"Then why on earth isn't he in prison!?" Abigail exclaimed as she suddenly stood. Mina sighed and stood as well, placing her hands on the girl's shoulders. It had to be a frightening concept for the girl to still be grasping while here. She herself was a vampire, Skinner was a known theif, Nemo was a complicated extremist, and now to think that Dorian was a hardened murderer. It was best that the girl be cautious, but Mina did hate to see a young girl terrified over someone like him. "He must be caught and hanged!"

"Abigail, no! He was not at himself!" Mina said defensively. "Don't you see? The devil made the exchange and is pilfering from his spirit. Dorian is responsible for the first act, but now it is the devil himself to blame for the rest. Once satan's lackey is out of the picture, I am sure that he will be back to the narcissistic joy we all remember; well, I remember."

"But if he knew that the devil . . ."

"He didn't know," Mina said firmly, squeezing the girl's shoulders comfortingly. "You sensed that he was off and that evil has had its grip about him, but he himself is not the source of such wickedry."

Abigail thought back and nodded slightly. "Yes, I remember that. In truth, Mr. Gray seems sad. As if he is mourning loss of innocence before youth could follow; almost as if life had left an important limb before its amputation and now he must haul it around painfully."

Mina stopped for a moment and stared down at the girl in amazement. "That was an odd metaphor," she remarked. Abigail watched a bright smile cross the woman's face. "It sounded exactly like something a doctor would say."

"One day, Misses Harker," Abigail replied with a yawn. She slumped back into her bed and layed her head against the pillow. "I almost dread sleeping. Those dreams are becoming more of a nuissance and not even the presence of Sawyer seems to undo them."

"Then perhaps it is time to do less watching and speak up during the nightmare," Mina said with a wink. "I am sure that you will find a way out of such a thing, Abigail. You are far too clever to keep dreaming the same dull darkness every night."

Abigail smiled and closed her eyes. Perhaps Mina was right. In fact, she might be able to find out more from Dorian Gray himself if she could manuever properly. Her mother had said that in dreams, all mankind is linked and comforted, while the wise use their dreams to gather more wisdom. That would be quite a skill at the moment.


	21. Dreaming in Vane

**Chapter 21: Dreaming In Vane**

Abigail settled gently into sleep and found herself standing in the dressing room once again. This time she noted that no one was present save the girl herself kneeling in front of the door and weeping. Abigail stepped forward to try and find out what had happened, but was stopped by the door opening immediately. She frowned and watched a dark figure enter. He was obviously an aristocrat of somekind who had seen years of nothing but beauty and privelege that now bored him to tears. His pallid complexion seemed more haunting than natural and his smile was plastered on as poorly as his hair colour dye; a dull brown which did nothing to cover the grey of his waining eyebrows. Abigail's nostrils filled with the new and still nauseating scent of expensive cigarette smoke as the man pushed his way into the room and helped the girl stand.

"Oh, Lord Henry! Do you wonder why I am undone? You should be happy for it! Dorian has turned his heart against me!" she wailed as the man stepped back away from her. His expression fell to neutral at her words as she stood trembling and clutching her own shoulders. "No, no, not him, but I; I turned his heart from me! Oh, why could I not have shone more brilliantly! It was foolish to throw away the muse that swept him into my dismal life! He will never speak to me again! My dear, dear Dorian! What have I done?!"

"There, there, my dear. My friend, Mr. Gray, has a terrible sense of humour. He is playing on the same game that you played on him in performing so terribly this evening; he pretends to be upset and will wait to see whether or not you entirely lose yourself in sorrowing. I tell you that if you continue this, he will indeed never speak to you again. You must pretend this whole event never occurred until tomorrow evening when he will come back on his knees begging for your tenderness again," the man called Lord Henry replied. Abigail narrowed her eyes as the sting of deception met the back of her mind. She grunted in pain and reached up to grasp the back of her head. She gasped more loudly at feeling herself paralyzed. Her heart began to race in realizing that she would be powerless to stop the murder once again. She began to struggle furiously with her own limbs as the oily nobleman inched towards the innocent actress. "I know that I was not kind to you when Dorian announced his engagement to you. I admit I was jealous of such a lovely young man spending the currency of his youth in purchasing a marraige, but I have thought sensibly about it since. Please allow me to apologize and help you relax with a little of my family's elder-berry wine."

"Why, Lord Henry, this is so unexpected," Sibyl said in a shocked breath. Abigail cried out and tried to lurch towards the girl as she began to walk towards her dressing counter and reach for two wine goblets that had obviously been meant for herself and her fiance'. "But it is very welcome. A joke? How like Dorian! How childish and charming all at once! Though I must say that he was quite hurtful and dark for my taste! How horrid he seemed just a moment ago, but mother tells me that it is so with a husband. One moment he will be a scoundrel and the next a glowing prince. Oh! My sweet Dorian! I will be patient and humour you!"

"How wonderful," Henry mused without genuine emotion.

Sibyl seemed to overwhelmed to notice. Abigail screamed as loudly as she could, but now realized that neither could hear her voice. She suddenly realized that she had moved a fraction of an inch forward. A flicker of hope flashed through her and she began to struggle more furiously than ever. Henry took both of the flutes from Sibyl quickly and took a small dark flask from his jacket. Sibyl's expression changed. She took a step backwards.

"Where is Basil Hallward, Lord Henry?" she asked uneasily. Henry smiled.

"In the hallway," he replied. "I am sure he'd agree with me on the assumption. He has known Dorian far longer than either of us, after all."

"That's, that's not wine! Where did you get that!? It's poison! I have seen it in the downstairs many times as a prop! You must throw that out at once!" she cried in fear.

"It was in the supply room, my girl, and it has yet to serve its purpose," he said lunging forward and grasping her tightly at the neck as he tipped the full cup to her mouth and began to pour in the dark fluid. "I will not see the beauty of that boy wasted on a harpy like you! He is mine and mine alone! I made him and I will have his beauty all to myself! He is _my_ puppet, and I will not easily let him dance for another!"

"Basil, Basil help me!" Sibyl shrieked repeatedly until the words began to gurgle with fluid.

Abigail felt fire burning in every fiber of her being as she flailed and screamed. The girl writhed in Henry's arms for several minutes, but not long enough to do any good. She suddenly began to turn a sickly shade of purple and grow still. A final cry of pain escaped as a rasp before the girl collapsed limp to the floor. Henry smiled and looked down at her.

"That's better," Henry said with a smirk. Abigail felt a cold wave hit her as she watched the man step towards the doorway. He turned and glanced back at his fallen victim once more. "Terrible waste." Without a word more, Henry swept out of the room and closed the door behind him.

Abigail felt her mind and body grow numb and ill all at once. She had only grown close to feeling as terrible as this during a bout of influenza. She had been so ill for days that she was roused every few hours to eat and take a tonic, but had been completely unaware of the passage of night and day. She wasn't sure if this were still a dream or not. Had she died in her sleep? If so, then this could not have been heaven. She was standing, unable to move, staring at the form of an innocent girl recently murdered violently. Her stomach twisted and began to retch. She felt herself fall forward and the scenery changed as a pair of hands caught her. She was still in the theatre judging by the walls and floor, but was now in the hallway. Her vision centered more fully and she found herself staring into the face of Dorian himself. This time he was not weeping as he had been doing in her dreams several times before. She stared at him in confusion.

"Abigail?" he asked uneasily.

"Mr. Gray?" she replied in a sickly whisper. "Are you dead, am I, are we both dead?"

"No," he said slowly and cautiously. "I am asleep."

"Oh," Abigail sighed. "So am I."

Dorian furrowed his brow. "This doesn't seem odd to you?"

"Not at all, I dream alongside others that have strong feelings toward me if I have strong feelings toward them," she explained. "I have been fascinated by you from the beginning and I suppose you pity me."

He glanced sideways for a moment and cleared his throat. "That aside, it is very rude and intrusive to lark about in someone else's dream without asking first."

"Well, it is rather difficult for me to ask you what with you slumbering with the enemy and all," she replied finding the sudden strength to fight back with sarcasm. She frowned at finding the memories of what the brute had done to everyone on board returning to her. She suddenly glared at him. "You were going to kill all of us."

"Oh, good gracious. Don't you think I am more intelligent than all that? I could have set those explosives more precisely, you know. I deliberately bought you a half an hour to get the ship back to the surface and regroup," he replied hotly. "Not that anyone will be grateful. That does not matter to me. What matters is that my portrait will soon be returned and the photograph will be destroyed."

"But _I_ have the photograph!" Abigail exclaimed. Dorian smiled brightly.

"You most certainly do not. I gathered a few things while you and Sawyer were off together," he replied. Abigail snarled at him. A look of confusion crossed his face as he continued to stare into her eyes. "I, I come here every night to try and decipher at what moment exactly she took her life. I haven't been able to get inside that room, ever. How did you manage?"

Abigail stared back in bewilderment. "I'm not sure. I find myself there in all of these dreams." Her reply sounded softer than even the whisper a moment before. Abigail felt her breath catch in her throat at feeling somewhat afraid of this man so suddenly. Mina had just told her that he had been guilty of a man's murder; not just any man, a friend. She stared back at him for a moment more and then turned away to regain her composure.

Dorian frowned. "I suppose the rules of the dream realm are different for someone like you," he said in jealousy so strong it sounded like disgust. His expression shifted once again into a smirk. This time Abigail could clearly see something else behind it as she gazed at him. There was fear, subtle and very persistent fear. What of? She narrowed her eyes at him as he leaned over her. "Getting back to the point; I have the photograph, but not my portrait. Not yet, anyway, I still have one part of the bargain left to fulfil."

Abigail felt another cold and sickening wave wash over her. The fear in the young man's eyes could not give her any hold on her own senses at realizing he meant to take something from her.

"And that was?" she asked hoarsely.

"I never retrieved the formula from you. I hadn't actually expected to see you come along, but M reported that you had left the school and would head for Kenya, you see. He was lucky to be wrong and was overjoyed when word reached him that you were nearing London." Dorian pulled her face to his and allowed the fear to swell into anger. "You could surrender it now, seeing as you still have every cognitive function available to you here."

"Mr. Gray, there's something you need to know . . ." Abigail began as she stared back in terror.

"Indeed, so tell me what I need and perhaps I can convince my superior to spare your friend when we arrive," he added cruelly. Abigail's eyes widened further.

"What?! Why would he . . ." she sputtered. "But if Dr. Kruschev has the formula, why would the Fantom need my input? Doesn't Dr. Kruschev have it memorized?"

"No," Dorian replied with a dark smile. "The old fool left the only record with you and only you were curious enough to look at it and remember what was written."

"I don't believe you, something isn't right," she muttered softly. Her eyes darted to and fro for a few moments. She turned and looked back up at the aged youth in shock. "You aren't cruel, not like this, not on a regular basis. That's what she meant."

Dorian's expression fell once again, this time audibly. Abigail was sure she heard his flawless features shatter with emotion at hearing a subtle referrence to Sibyl. He began to growl softly.

"How dare you use her words!" he suddenly shouted, grasping Abigail's shoulders with a grip of hatred. The girl shrieked and tried to pull away. "You saw her, you saw her death! You know it was my doing, don't you?" He demanded. Abigail suddenly found herself completely mute. Even her shrieks of fear were silent now. The young man's eyes began to glow red. "I will not allow you to destroy me!" he shouted. Abigail felt cold and fire swirling in a raging vortex within her. She was completely trapped and unable to make any sound or movement whatsoever. Dorian raised his hand to strike as the walls around them began to churn and twist as madly as the nerves within her. Abigail felt herself falling backwards without explanation as a voice called her name. She felt no air moving around her as she fell into the blackness she usually saw before waking. This was probably more terrifying than the images of the nightmare itself. She reached both hands up and outward, groping for anything to grab hold of. She suddenly felt her hands graze something warm and firm in front of her. She grasped it tightly with both hands and drew herself forward.

"Abigail, wake up," Mina commanded firmly. Abigail felt her eyes fly open as the warm figure in her hands took the shape of her companion. She gasped for breath and looked to either side of herself, confirming repeatedly that she had just awakened from the nightmare and was now sitting bolt upright in her room. She panted heavily and remained silent for a moment. The woman looked at her face worriedly. "You were having a fit in your sleep. What happened?"

Abigail looked up at the woman for a moment and contemplated spilling out all of the details of her dream. Another, louder, portion of herself wanted to run furiously across the ocean and the continents until she found her mother and then curled up in her lap. Abigail had never faced such a terrifying image. The fierce look in the youth's eyes had been more than desperation; he had wanted to kill her. Without saying anything, Abigail jumped off of her bed and raced out into the hallway towards her father's room. She grabbed the handle tightly and forced the door open allowing herself inside and not turning when Mina called to her. She slammed the door shut and ran over to the man, rousing him confusedly from sleep. As she leapt onto the bed beside him and threw her arms around him, Allan found himself coming out of what had been the best sleep he'd experienced in months. He frowned and looked down at his daughter, forgetting entirely about the issue of sleep when he felt her trembling.

"Abigail, what's wrong? What happened?" he asked hurriedly. Abigail said nothing and buried her head into his chest, breathing heavily.

"I want to go back, I don't want to go any farther," she whispered.

"It's a little late for that," Allan mused as he pulled the girl close to him and put the extra blanket covering him around her. "Did you have a vision?"

"The Fantom is after me," she explained. "Mr. Gray explained it all. He will keep coming after us until he has his portrait returned." Her trembling began to intensify at remembering every image and sound in the dream. "He will kill for it, has killed for it."

"Then we'll have to trust our own strengths," Allan said firmly and comfortingly. He placed both arms around the girl and sighed heavily. "I haven't seen you like this yet on the voyage and you've had plenty of reasons to be terrified before."

"I could see it in him, he wanted me dead," she said shuddering. "I want to forget that dream."

"Then think about something else for now, it will fade," the hunter offered. Abigail looked up at him and frowned.

"What else can I think about? That was beyond horrible!" she cried. Allan thought for a moment before concocting a positively brilliant distraction.

"Have I told you about my adventure in Tsavo three years ago?" he asked quickly.

Abigail ceased shuddering and panting for a second and shook her head. He smiled. The child in her would be distracted by a story long enough to make the dream a tolerable portion of her past. It felt awkward having her beside him, but she seemed to desperate and frightened to send straight back to her quarters. The elder began to retell the story of a railroad, two demons, and his two companions helping him restore peace to the countryside. Abigail half listened and half tried to decide whether or not she should tell anyone about what she had seen happen to Sibyl. What if this Lord Henry were still alive and wielding some sort of power over Dorian? She had sensed before that it was another evil guiding him. After a few minutes of balancing scheming, questioning, and listening; Abigail relenquished her consciousness to simply listening until she fell asleep. There was still something to figure out about this mysterious immortal and it looked as though Mina would no longer have the answers.


End file.
